


getting ahead (and other terrible life choices)

by lindigo



Series: pumped up kicks [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Humor, Extremely light angst, Fluff and Humor, Found Family, Gen, Light Angst, Teenage Drama, and adult drama too for that matter, morgan stark has a rich childhood and she has the most overprotective family in the world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2020-07-10 15:09:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19907758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindigo/pseuds/lindigo
Summary: 'You tabloids will latch onto the newest piece of gossip and psycho-analyse it to hell.'Against her better judgement, Tanya rolls her eyes, and Harley's voice rises. 'She's thirteen, she's going through some stuff!''She broke her classmate's nose and dislocated his shoulder.''And we issued a public apology and we're paying his hospital bills.''So that makes it okay?'He blinks at her, floundering, before he throws his hands up in exasperation. 'It's a family issue! So we're dealing with it. Like a family.''Be realistic!' she snaps, a bit too sharply and he draws back like he's been slapped. 'You're one of the Starks! Everything you do is on the world's stage!'--Morgan Stark attacked her classmate two weeks ago and noone knows why. Tanya Montague is a reporter, and probably one of the worst people ever to take the story but whatever.It's called 'getting ahead'.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the purposes of this fic, I've made up a bunch of ocs and organisations. Any similiarity they might have with existing characters in the marvel universe is completely coincidental.
> 
> Also in this fic, Morgan is 13, Peter is 25, and Harley is 27.

Years ago, Tanya Montague saw Pepper on the news. 

This isn’t extraordinary information, because everyone did. The woman was always in the spotlight, even when she didn’t want to be (being the CEO of Stark Industries and the surviving matriarch of the Stark family makes you a bit of a media hot spot) and in the wake of The Blip, Rescue got so much coverage, it’d be impossible to keep all the memories of frenzied footage from blurring together.

But Tanya remembers this segment. She remembers it clear as day.

A threat, only just subdued. Ash falling in a mimicry of snow, charred bits of gunmetal scrap, hunks of plaster and rock and rebar stretching back so far it creates a semi-skyline and there she is - the camera zooms in, shaky and blurred from dust and grime - a redhead in blue, staggering out from underneath a pile of rubble. She’s hurt, you can see that something important is broken in the tremble of her shoulders and the limp in her leg. The view from the camera stutters before it zooms further in - there’s a gash on her forehead that seems like it’s a mile long, and blood matts her fiery hair down into a coagulated crusty mess. There’s a few hushed whispers, the cameramen maybe - ‘Where did her helmet go?’ ‘Must’ve lost it in the fray.’ - and then a louder voice that obviously belongs with the array of half-turned police cars and the siren calls of incoming ambulances - ‘Can we get a medic? Medic, please, on-site now!’

Pepper has been resolutely approaching at her consistent stagger. She betrays no sign of acknowledging the cameramen, or the police, and when a couple of hands enter into frame with bandages and a plaintive jumble of words, she pushes them aside. Suddenly, there’s a rumble and the camera jerks -the cameramen have been pushed aside to make room for a forest of boom mics and their reporters and there’s a flicker of a snarl on Pepper’s face before she schools her expression back into careful neutrality. 

‘Can you comment on the nature of this atta-‘

‘How many casualties do you think-‘

‘Personally, what do you think of SHIELD’s coddling of their civilian audience-‘

‘No comment,’ she mumbles and musters up a strained thin-lipped smile as she brushes past. ‘I’m afraid I’m tired and I’ll have to-‘

Pepper seems to freeze, her eyes latched onto a point outside the camera’s view, her expression laid painfully bare (shock, incredulity, relief) for a single second before she lurches forward and catches a red-purple blur that flies into her embrace.

There’s an immediate uproar from the mics and reporters; hands swarm as people restart their persistent questioning and the cameraman swears, swaying, but steady enough to catch the footage of Pepper Potts rising stiffly from a crouch, with her daughter held tight in her arms. Morgan has a teddy bear beanie stuffed over her ears and a fluffy parka zipped up to her throat and all of it is being stained with blood and grime and it doesn’t matter at all. The little girl still holds onto her mother like she’s a lifeboat in an ocean. Morgan’s expression is completely obscured - the child’s face is tucked into the side of her mother’s neck - but Pepper’s eyes peer out over her daughter’s nest of dark hair with a fire in them that wasn’t there before. 

‘Excuse me,’ she says in a way that makes it clear she doesn’t care if they do. ‘I have to get home.’

When Pepper Potts leaves the frame, her back is straight as an arrow. Maybe she’s still limping, but now, it’s barely note-worthy. 

Tanya thinks about that moment a lot. She thought about it during her final exams, she thought about it in her first job interview and now she’s thinking about it again, sitting stiffly on a pristine white couch as she waits outside the office of the CEO of Stark Enterprises. That is to say, the office of Virginia ‘Pepper’ Stark. 

She had arrived to her appointment with Pepper with fifteen minutes to spare. It’s enough time to make her seem sensibly concerned about punctuality but definitely not enough to fix her ‘situation’. Tanya squints at the clock on the wall and tries to make the action emanate grace and confidence, if only for the sake of the sharp-eyed receptionist. Maybe Pepper is the type to make her visitors wait, a method to psyche them out. She hasn’t heard of it happening before but nobody enjoys admitting they’ve been successfully intimidated and her colleagues aren’t exactly the most forthcoming type. Tanya worries at her lip with her teeth before she remembers she’s wearing an incredibly expensive brand of lipstick and she refuses to smudge it. In an instant, she’s whipping out her makeup mirror from her bag and Tanya fixes her reflection in place with a glare.

Damn it. 

She’s about to meet her idol with a broken nail and smudged lipstick. Might as well have shown up in a burlap sack.

She snaps her makeup mirror shut with an audible click, and stares at the clock in front of her. 3 minutes have passed. 

This is a living nightmare.

How did she get here? Why did she think that Harley fucking Keener, of all people, would do right by her? It’s not as if their first meeting did anything but dash all her expectations of him.

God fucking damn it. This was going to be the end of her career.

—

Yesterday:

‘This is not going to be the end of my career.’ Tanya says as she steps out of the taxi and onto the pavement. She idles for a moment, watching as the car trundles away while she transfers her phone to the crook of her neck. ‘You’re overreacting.’

‘You are taking a really unnecessary risk here-‘ 

She cuts him off with a groan as she retrieves a handheld recorder and a writing pad from her handbag. ‘Benji, it’s called trying to get ahead.’ 

‘No, it’s called trying to get yourself fired.’ Benji makes a distressed sound that’s halfway between a gasp and a choked sob. ‘Oh god, if Meredith finds out I helped you, she’ll use my head as a smoke tray.’

Tanya squints at her surroundings for a moment before she makes her way down the footpath. ‘I doubt it. You’d disturb the feng shui of her office.’ 

‘You are not helping, Tanya.’

‘Neither are you.’ Almost subconsciously, as if it were a well practised gesture, Tanya smooths out her pencil skirt and adjusts her heels. ‘Listen, Benji. I know you wouldn’t have given me his address if you didn’t believe in me.’

‘I gave you his address because you scare the shit out of me.’

‘What’s the difference?’

She’s coming up to his workshop now. She can tell from the growing sounds of screeching metal. Her long strides slow to a halt as a boldly lettered sign creeps into view.

‘MACH II’, it reads.

‘I think I’m here.’

‘Don’t tell him I sent you.’ Benji heaves out a world weary sigh. ‘And please don’t get us fired.’

‘I won’t.’ With that, Tanya hangs up and primly slots the phone into her handbag. There’s a moment, where she smooths out her hair, fixes her bodice. Check in with yourself, her mother had always said. Put on your best face. Tanya breathes in deep, and when she exhales, she steps into view.

‘Mr Keener!’ she yells, straining to be heard above the whirr of a saw. ‘Excuse me!’

Situated just inside the corrugated walls of the shop, a figure sits hunched over a scrap of metal that’s spitting sparks in intermittent bursts. His back is towards her, and it’s only when she comes closer that she realises he’s wearing headphones over his welding mask. 

‘Mr Keener!’ She tries again. No answer.

Tanya cautiously taps him on his shoulder. ‘Harley Keener?’

In a flash, he’s out of his seat, and Tanya’s quick reflexes make her step back instinctively as her eyes latch suspiciously on his blow torch. The affronting flame sputters out as the man finally,  _ finally _ swivels around, and drags off his bulky mask to reveal a sweaty, tanned face.

It’s a good face, even if the grease and sweat are a bit of a turn off. High cheekbones, a beard that toes the line of teenage scruff and lumberjack - he’s obviously earned his heartthrob status. 

Tanya sweeps back her hair with a flick of her head and fixes him with a dazzling smile. 

‘Tanya Montague, journalist,’ she says as she extends her hand. He takes it with a nonplussed smile, and she tries not to cringe at the feeling of his sweaty palms. 

‘Harley Keener,’ he returns. ‘Mechanic.’

'I've noticed.' She cocks her head, because it's a good angle for her. 'You have quite a public presence, Mr Keener, and my magazine and I think you're just the man to - ' Tanya jumps as a loud bang interrupts her pitch, her eyes darting to the shapeless pile of scrap that is now smoking, ever so slightly. Harley hasn't moved. In fact, his expression remains calmly placid. 'Do you…' she ventures awkwardly. 'Do you have to attend to that or…?'

'Nope!' He grins, then falters, turning slightly to regard his toxic scrap heap with a tilt of his head. 'Why? Does it bother you?'

Tanya blinks at him. Is this a test?

Her eyes pass between him, and the charred corpse of what could've once been an engine. It seems to be leaking a nameless liquid pointedly in her direction. When Tanya turns back to Harley, he holds her gaze, the very image of innocence.

Yep. Definitely a test.

Tanya beams. 'No, not at all! In fact, I'll have to get you to take me through it later!'

He quirks an eyebrow.

'Later.' It's both a statement and a question. Tanya brings her perfectly manicured hand to her face in a graceful imitation of embarrassment.

'Oh, I'm getting ahead of myself.' She produces a business card from her purse and hands it to him with a flick of her wrist. 'I represent Filigree magazine and, as I was saying, we believe you're in the perfect position to - '

'You want to interview Morgan.' The rest of Tanya's sentence dies in her throat. Harley's barely even glanced at the card - instead, he regards her in a way that makes her want to fidget.

'I - ' she begins and then stops. 'Yes, I do.'

Keener leans back on his heels and crosses his muscled arms. 'You're the eighth person to ask,' he says. 'Although,  _ they _ reached out over the phone.'

'I'm assertive.'

'The answer's no.'

'W-what?' The abruptness of it makes her stutter, which is mortifying. 'You haven't even heard my pitch yet!'

He's already turning away, strolling back into the confines of his workshop with a casualness that makes irritation boil in Tanya's throat.

'I don’t have to,' he says. 'You came here in person, alone. I doubt your pitch is company-approved.'

On his way, he stomps extra firmly on the ground, and the smoking pile of scrap metal makes a sound like a computer being turned off. Tanya stares at it as she runs after him - the liquid's stopped spilling, and smoke no longer streams from its blackened form. Aside from a residual red glow around stray pipes, there's no sign of sparking either.

Fucking Starks.

'This is a special case,' she tries and he grunts, non-committal.

'Buttering me up to get to Pepper - yeah, it's a real high-class ploy.' He throws his tool belt onto a nearby table and it lands with a loud thunk. 'A phone-call was good enough for the others.'

'They didn't want it as much as I do.'

'Bold statement.'

'It's the truth.'

At that, he turns to her in disbelief. 'You tabloids will latch onto the newest piece of gossip and psycho-analyse it to hell.'

Against her better judgement, Tanya rolls her eyes, and his voice rises. 'She's thirteen, she's going through some stuff!'

'She broke her classmate's nose and dislocated his shoulder.'

'And we issued a public apology and we're paying his hospital bills.'

'So that makes it okay?'

He blinks at her, floundering, before he throws his hands up in exasperation. 'It's a family issue! So we're dealing with it. Like a family.'

'Be realistic!' she snaps, a bit too sharply and he draws back like he's been slapped. 'You're one of the Starks! Everything you do is on the world's stage!'

He purses his lips into a thin, angry line.

'So now I owe you that story?' He's daring her to take the bait and Tanya has to bite her lip to keep herself from saying something she'll regret. Anything about 'twisting words' could definitely be used against her.

'The longer you stay silent about it-' she mutters slowly, and he blows out air through his nose in an exasperated sigh. ‘-the more rumours are going to spread.'

Harley's mouth is set in a mirthless smirk as he reaches up for the garage door handle. 'Thanks for the advice,' he says flatly and Tanya knows her window of opportunity is closing fast.

'Last week, Skyline compared her to Obadiah Stane!' she blurts out and, in an instant, all trace of coy humour is stripped from his expression.

'They what?' he almost snarls but the look on her face makes him stop and stare.

A moment passes.

'You made that up.'

'But you believed it.' They both know she's onto something. Harley drags his hand down his face, thoughtful. 'All I need is ten minutes with Pepper Stark.' Tanya continues. 'We both know she gets final say on this.'

'You’re with Filigree,’ he says in a way that lets her know exactly what he thinks of that. ‘You ask questions about favourite types of caviar.’

‘We’re expanding.’

‘It’s Filigree,’ he repeats and god damn it, he makes a good point. His hand is back on the garage door handle and, inside Tanya’s mind, a spark spits into life. 

‘Fine!’ she musters up and he’s already dragged the door halfway down - what the  _ fuck _ kind of strength - ‘Okay, wait, wait wait-!’

In an instant, she’s seized the bottom ridge of the door and there’s this tangible snap that definitely means one of her acrylic nails has broken and she just. Isn’t going to think about that right now because at least the door isn’t falling anymore.

A pause. ‘Yes?’ Harley mutters.

‘Five years ago. Filigree’s People In The Present Department ran a story critiquing the shortened time slot allocated to the Stark Vigil that year,’ Tanya huffs out, straining. Jesus, this door is heavy. 

‘Oh yeah.’ Harley’s voice, even muffled, holds obvious fondness. ‘It got a bunch of blowback, didn’t it?’

‘Yes and the article was deleted and nobody talked about it ever again,’ Tanya hisses. ‘Well, I was the one who wrote it.’

‘No you weren’t. Kia Lamar was credited -‘

‘Kia Lamar-‘ Tanya interrupts, ‘-is my real name. I changed it, when I -‘

‘When you sold out?’ 

Harley throws the garage door open with such force it makes her stumble back. He's wearing an unreadable expression, and it takes a second for her mind to catch up to what he just said.

‘Sold out?’

He gives her a look. ‘Am I wrong?’

She narrows her eyes at him. 'I made myself more  _ marketable _ . If I hadn’t changed at that time then I’d have never gotten to this point.’

'You’re not helping your case here.'

'I’m the same person.' She grimaces internally as soon as the cliche leaves her mouth. 'I believe - I believe that Morgan wouldn’t have done what she did if she didn’t have a reason to.'

'You don’t even know her.'

'Nobody does. That's the point. Filigree is fluffy and stupid and harmless -' He makes a motion with his hand to hurry up and Tanya has to grit her teeth to keep her voice from rising. '- and  _ humanising.  _ Morgan is currently an untouchable child genius with apparent violent urges. She’s passionate and clearly very strong, and right now all the information we know about her could fit on a sticky note.’ She leans back to regard the man before him, an eyebrow cocked. ‘At some point, radio silence only feeds into speculation.’

Harley shoots her a look that screams ‘watch yourself’ and she snaps her jaw shut. He’s leaning on the frame of the garage door, his arms loosely crossed, and she flicks her gaze between his hands and the door handle nervously. This is precarious territory. 

When it’s clear that Harley doesn’t intend to butt in any time soon, she takes a deep breath and blurts out what she hopes will be a closer. 

'I’ll ask the filler questions.' Tanya says, not unkindly. 'I’ll dress her up. And, I’ll let her speak her mind.'

She hesitates for a second before she adds, 'I’m going to make it work.'

A moment passes where neither of them says a word. Tanya's heart is thumping hard in her chest as Harley finally sighs, and he draws himself up to full height.

'Don’t put so much pressure on yourself,' he says softly. 'You’ll stumble. And Pepper has no tolerance for incompetence.

Tanya stares after him. 'So you'll do it?'

He flips her a quick thumbs up as he turns away, his phone already out of his pocket. 

‘Good luck,’ he says, and slams the door. 

\--

And now here she was.

Sitting outside the office of her idol with smudged lipstick, a broken nail, and a bag full of documents she nearly left behind in her apartment that morning because they gave her an  _ hour _ . She had an  _ hour  _ to wake up, do her makeup, pick out a classic yet striking, confident but not overbearing combination of tops and bottoms, as well as the shoes -

-and the only reason she even had an hour was because of those last minute texts companies would always send out reminding everyone of their scheduled appointment time. Tanya had always taken satisfaction in never needing them - her meticulously highlighted itineraries were her pride and joy - and now, thanks to Harley Keener not getting her number before he slammed the door in her face, that was no longer a comfort.

An  _ hour _ . Sixty minutes. And she'd gotten here early because of appearances so that meant forty-five minutes. Less than that if she included the time inside the cab.

God, no wonder the receptionist gave her that once-over when she walked in - she must look like a wreck. An outfit picked in fifteen minutes with  _ white pumps _ (what was she thinking?), and a face of makeup done hastily in the rear-view mirror of a taxi. Even her hair is still shiny from the shower and if anyone today mistakes that sheen for grease, she'll cry herself to sleep.

It's Stark Industries - surely the calibre of their business would mean a buffer period of at least 2 hours between notification and appointment.  _ Surely _ . Although, the 'calibre of their business' would also understandably create an expectation that anyone who made an appointment wouldn't even  _ need  _ the reminder. And she wouldn't, had she not gone through their CEO's adopted son to even have a chance of getting a timeslot.

Tanya can already hear Meredith squawking in her ear.  _ 'A complete and utter rejection of professionalism!' _

Meredith would be right of course, but it's not as if Tanya's the first one to try. Harley Keener is 27 years old, a worldwide heartthrob, and the perfect bridge between civilian life and the realm of heroes. He moves between them with an enviable ease - it means he's allowed the meagre privacy allocated to 'celebrities' as well as insight into the innerworkings of SHIELD and god, what Tanya wouldn't give to live his life for just one day. He is also (amongst other things) someone who has the ear of The Beartrap herself, and nowadays that might as well make him on par with a genie. Pepper Potts may have been known as Tony Stark's accommodating assistant once upon a time, but Pepper Stark is one brilliantly cunning bitch.

Tanya tentatively opens her purse to peer at her bundle of documents. Legalities and rough write ups on what to expect should the project go forward. It's all mortifyingly underwhelming, but she hadn't expected her appointment to literally be the next day. All she can do is thank god she didn't choose to celebrate her fighting chance at a bar last night - she can only imagine the hell that a hangover would've brought down on her. 

God. The last time she felt anywhere near this unprepared was over a decade ago. A math test in eighth grade. She'd gotten a B+ and had to excuse herself to cry over her inevitable dead-end future in the bathrooms.

'Tanya Montague?' The receptionist is giving her That Look again and it is not helping her nerves whatsoever. 'Mrs Stark is ready for you.'

As she stands up, Tanya takes a moment to glance at her shoes one more time.

White pumps.

Sweet Jesus, she's going to be eaten alive.

\--

Pepper Stark is dazzling.

She's standing at her desk when Tanya walks in and for a moment, Tanya's a teenager again, staring doe-eyed at the latest footage of Pepper Stark, standing up to the UN or holding up the last vestiges of a collapsing bridge or even just walking down the street with her daughter, steely-eyed as she shields the smaller child from the glare and flash of cameras.

Age hasn't made her any less breathtaking. She's wrapped in a sleek navy blue dress with a neckline that dips at her collarbone, all business in a set of sensible black heels. The few grey hairs that spring from her bun of red hair shine silver in the morning light cast through her office's windows - Pepper Stark would never deign to dye her hair. Why would she?

She looks up from a set of floating holograms at the sound of Tanya's heels clacking on the floor and erases them with a flick of her finger. Oh gosh. Tanya hugs her purse to her chest. This is going to be the best worst day of her life.

'Tanya Montague,' the receptionist calls out, as she primly holds open the office door. 'Here from Filigree Magazine.'

'Thank you, Irene,' Pepper says and Irene closes the door behind her without a word. Sheer professional instinct is the only thing that carries Tanya over the expanse of that office - her brain is currently still catching up with the fact that she is in the same room with Pepper fucking Stark. Unbidden, her hand extends in a greeting and a beaming, surprisingly genuine smile spreads over her features.

'Tanya Montague,' she says as Pepper takes her hand, and then immediately wants to kick herself because of course she knows that already. 'It's wonderful to finally meet you.'

Pepper cocks her head at Tanya, her eyes narrowing slightly, even as her smile remains calmly placating. 'Tanya Montague,' she says slowly. 'Now, that isn't your real name, is it?'

Oh god. What? What is happening? Why is - that  _ rat _ , Harley Keener is a rodent of the lowest degree, she's going to  _ kill  _ him -

'No,' Tanya blurts out. 'It's Kia Lamar. Tanya Montague is a pen name'

'Would you feel uncomfortable if I used your real name today?'

Good lord. Pepper could probably ask her for the keys to her apartment and she'd hand them over.

'Go ahead.'

'Well then. Kia,' Pepper says as she rounds the side of her desk. 'It's come to my attention that you want to interview my daughter.' When the redheaded woman swivels round to face her again, her smile is thin. 'Specifically about her actions towards her classmate. Christian Hall.'

‘I-Yes.’ Tanya is strangely disappointed at the quick segue into business but at the same time, she’d practised this pitch a million times in the mirror. It’s familiar territory. ‘I believe it'd be best to release some sort of explanation of further context. If only to alleviate the suspicions of the general public,’ she adds at the sight of Pepper’s expression. 

‘Suspicions?’ Pepper is still, inexplicably, smiling. ‘You mean the assumption that my daughter is a violent maniac in need for intensive therapy?’

Tanya has the sinking feeling that this is all a convoluted trap. What would be the socially acceptable way to even respond to that? Yes? No? Both would be bad. Both would be very very bad.

'I just think that with a fluff piece, we could surround that, um -‘

Pepper raises an eyebrow in silent judgement.

‘- controversy with more appeasing content. It could placate some of your more extremist critics.’ 

Pepper cocks her head in interest. ‘That's very altruistic of you, Kia,’ she says, then promptly drops the grin. ‘It's also unrealistic.’

‘There is a reason why I try to keep my daughter out of the public eye.’ Pepper sweeps her hand over her desk as she makes her way forward and suddenly, just like that, she seems taller. Sharper. 

Tanya takes a step back instinctively. Meaner.

‘My husband was desensitised to an unhealthy extent. I have, over time, grown immune to it. But my daughter -‘ and here, Pepper’s voice hardens.’-my daughter is thirteen years old. She acted out. That's it. And I'm not going to put her dead center in a public forum for people to throw theories at.’

‘But-‘

‘Kia. This isn't my first rodeo.’ Pepper stops directly in front of her and she's never felt so small. ‘You're right in that we need to clear the air.’

The pit opening up in Tanya’s stomach seems to sour. ‘You just don't want Filigree to do it.’ 

‘Your magazine is a very necessary presence in the current societal climate,’ Pepper says and it’s so flimsy of a compliment that Tanya can’t even be frustrated at the attempt of cushioning a blow. ‘But your theming, and the type of interview you're proposing…we both know they won't mesh.’

Tanya’s cheeks burn with embarrassment. While Pepper has been speaking, her nails have been quietly yet surely pressing into her palm, and the pain is bracing. It keeps away the inevitable break in her voice as she clears her throat. 

Pepper has begun to pace in the face of her silence. ‘I recognise initiative and I’d hate to punish that, so I’ll do you a favour and keep your superiors in the dark,’ she says offhandedly. ‘You shouldn’t make a habit of this, however-‘

'I disagree.'

The redhead stops, midstep. 'Excuse me?'

'I disagree that Filigree isn't an appropriate platform.' God, Meredith is going to kill her. 'We're one of the biggest magazines in the city right now, and the fact that we're known for fluff pieces is an advantage.’

Chopped and quartered. She'll probably put her head on a pike and stick it outside her office as a warning.

'It'll mean that people won't look too deeply at whatever we target. Even if it's you.'

There'll be a little sign underneath. 'Local Reporter Tries To Get Ahead, Loses One Instead.' Snappy and smart. Just like how Meredith likes it.

'We're the magazine equivalent of rose-tinted glasses. We'll humanise-'

'She's  _ thirteen _ ,’ Pepper snaps and oh god, what is she doing, how is she still talking? Shut up, Tanya, for once your anxiety and your survival instinct are in the same boat and they are currently rowing away from the Bermuda Triangle that is Pepper Stark -

'She's thirteen! That's exactly the point!' 

-she's taken down world-ending threats and you walked in here wearing _ white pumps  _ -

'She's a  _ child _ and I'll be able to spin up a fairy-floss article around what we're really addressing, which is the fact that she broke her classmate's nose and dislocated his shoulder -'

\- you know the symposium definitely still has a working guillotine and the Starks  _ absolutely  _ have the clout to stage a reenactment of the French Revolution -

'-which I'm sure she wouldn't have done without a good reason, just considering the environment she’s grown up in. And I believe that if we hand the story to a magazine with a more serious 'theme' - ' and what the _ fuck _ , Tanya! Pepper definitely caught that and you are not clever for doing that. ' -it'll inevitably spiral into exactly what you don't want it to be, which is a bunch of strangers treating your daughter like-'

'A shiny new toy.'

It's the first time Pepper's said anything in at least two minutes and it takes Tanya a few seconds to respond.

'I - uh. Yes. Exactly.'

'Mm.'

Pepper has a look in her eyes that Tanya can't read. Fuck, it's difficult enough to hold her gaze after that outburst let alone understand what's going on behind those baby blues. Unbidden, the memory of Pepper, covered in ash and blood and grime, springs up in her mind.

You'd think it'd be difficult to reconcile those images in her head with the woman standing before her, but it isn't at all. They're puzzle pieces from different sets, and they fit together like they were always meant to.

'Why you?'

'Sorry?' Tanya's eyes catch on the way Pepper's fingers drum on the surface of her desk.

'I've gotten over thirty different offers for interviews with Morgan. This month alone.' Pepper says, as neutral as a spreadsheet. 'Convince me. Why should I give it to you?'

There's a rising tide at Tanya's throat. The image of Pepper in the snow that wasn't snow but debris from a destroyed alien ship never went away, and now it solidifies, it zooms back to find her, Kia Lamar, when she still wore glasses and hand-me-down converse shoes, wide eyed as she watched the video for the millionth time in all of its shitty glory on Youtube. And then even further out, of Lucas pulling up a chair and taking a seat next to her. Five years behind but still there. Still her brother. Still alive.

She'd pulled away from the video to kiss him on his temple at the time, and he let her.

'I-'

'Mom!' The doors to Pepper's office slam open with the force of a hurricane and in an instant, the tension of the room is gone. Pepper is surprised for perhaps a second (the tiniest of jolts and a hand whipping out to a panel on her desk) before she's putting her head in her hands and groaning. It's a long suffering sound.

Tanya takes comfort in it. For someone who was just about to bare her soul to her long time idol and was promptly interrupted by an incredibly well timed teenager, that sound is like a lifeboat in a stormy ocean. 

'Morgan, oh my  _ god. _ '

Irene pops up in the doorway, the very image of a guilty party, as Morgan freaking Stark strides purposefully into the office.

'Ma'am, I'm so sorry, I tried to stop her but -'

Pepper waves her away without looking up. 'It's fine, Irene. Morgan, we talked about this.'

Morgan Stark slows as she comes up on Tanya. 'We did!' she responds, then promptly sticks her hand out to the baffled journalist. 'Hi. I'm Morgan Stark.'

And yes, it is in fact Morgan Stark. She seems taller than she seems in photos, even if Tanya still towers over her and she's wearing gear that makes it seem like she's just come from the gym. She's also inexplicably holding onto a bike helmet, which is currently tucked under her arm. There's a beat where Tanya simply stares before she takes her hand.

'I - yes, I know who you are,' she says, the image of eloquence. 'I'm Tanya Montague. I represent Filigree Magazine.'

At that, Morgan claps her hands together in satisfied glee, approval coming off her in waves. 'Filigree!' she exclaims. 'That's perfect! I loved the segment you had on Trish Walker last month.’

'Morgan.' Pepper says flatly. 'What are you doing here?'

Morgan turns to her mother, her brow set in a hard line.

'I'm here to argue my case.'

'You're what?'

'To have an interview. I want to do the interview.'

Pepper stares at her blankly. 'Why? It's a bad idea!'

'Yeah, both you and Happy have told me that a million times. But I'm tired of sitting on the sidelines. I want to get my account out there.’

Her mother leans back and lets loose yet another despairing sigh.

'And you're always saying that we have to take charge of our own public appearances.' Morgan adds.

'And you're going to do that with Filigree?'

'Yes, Mom. With Filigree.' Morgan turns to flash a conspiring grin at Tanya. Congratulations, by the way! You're the first to get this far!'

Is that even a compliment? Judging by how Pepper's eyes narrow, it definitely isn't. As the woman gives her daughter a once over, her eyes turn to slits at the sight of her clothes. 

'Morgan, I swear to god, if you're missing boxing practise to be here - '

'I'm not! I got an early release,’ she pauses for a moment, before she adds, ‘And even if I didn’t, I would’ve thought you’d be happy about me missing out on punching more people.’

And just like that, tension floods back into the room. A rising sense of panic begins to spread through Tanya even as she watches Pepper’s eyes narrow further into slits. This discussion is obviously way above her pay grade and Tanya finds herself subconsciously inching away from the silent argument presumably passing between the woman and her daughter. 

The whole exchange couldn’t have lasted for more than a few seconds but when Morgan opens her mouth again to speak, Tanya is filled with equal amounts relief and dread.

‘Besides, Harley gave me a lift here, so you can’t be mad af just me.’

Even without seeing her expression, Tanya can hear the scowl in her voice. Pepper releases a deep suffering sigh and presses her fingers against the developing wrinkle between her eyes.

'You're right, he should know better.' Pepper says after a pause, and looks up from where she's massaging the bridge of her nose to give Tanya a pointed look. 'Tanya, if you could just give us a moment?'

God, yes. An escape. She's barely out the door before it’s closing again behind her and she finally,  _ finally  _ has a second to breathe.

What was that? Dissent within ranks? A tiny ugly part of her brain latches onto the thought like a goblin with a gold coin and floods her mind with distasteful headlines, snide whisperings with little claws that rip and tear and scream ‘promotion’ into her ears.

'Yo! Montague!'

Tanya’s eyes shoot open at the sound of a new voice, one that doesn’t make her shudder.

At least, not as much.

Harley Keener waves at her animatedly from where he's leaning on the front desk. Irene is being a good sport about the heavy bike helmet currently placed on top of it, although she occasionally looks up to glare at his dirty boots.

The bubbling pool of hope that burst into life at the prospect of a distraction prompt drains out of her. Fantastic.

'Yo,' Tanya returns politely, even if using the word makes a little bit of her soul scream out in pain. Harley rounds the corner of the desk and it really seems like he hasn't changed clothes since yesterday. Faded black tank top, torn jeans. The only addition seems to be the maroon jacket slung across his shoulders.

'How'd you find the scheduling?' He's awfully cordial for someone who slammed a door in her face not 24 hours ago.

She gives him a smile that's all teeth. 'It was perfect. I really can't thank you enough for -'

He cuts her off with a wave of his hand.

'C'mon, cut the bullshit. Tell me how it really went down.'

Fine. Tanya drops the smile. 'I had an  _ hour _ to prepare for an appointment with Pepper Stark. How do you think it went down?'

He gives her a onceover. 'I think you look pretty amazing if you put this all together in an hour.'

'Really? Look at my shoes.'

A pause. 

'They...look nice?’

'Of course you'd think so.'

As she takes a seat on one of the couches, Harley leans back against the adjacent wall, leaving a wide berth for the assuredly expensive vase on display.

'So?' he says as he nonchalantly shrugs off his jacket and ties it round his waist. 'How was it?'

'Spectacular.'

He laughs. 'Wow. That bad, huh?'

'I said spectacular. What part of that don't you understand?'

He throws his hands up in mock surrender. 'Sorry, my bad. Couldn't hear what you were saying over how bullshit that was.'

'What do you want me to say then?' she bites out, irritation getting the best of her. 'That I royally fucked up?'

He makes a face and shrugs, as if that was the obvious conclusion. 'If that's the truth, then yeah.'

She stares at him for a moment, in all of his simultaneously underwhelming yet quietly intimidating garb. His boots are old and worn, seem crusty with grime, but he hasn't seemed to leave dirty imprints anywhere on the floor. He has a permanent slouch that makes him seem shorter than he is, but if he straightened up he'd be taller than her in her highest pair of his heels. And his arms -

\- well, there's a reason why he was on the front cover of Sports Illustrated's Swimsuit Issue three years in a row.

'I shouldn't be talking to you like this. I'm a professional,' she says finally.

'A professional who stalked down a proxy because she was too scared to ask for an appointment outright.'

Jesus Christ. He's right of course.

'God,' she groans, running her hands through her hair. 'I am so fired.'

'Nah, Pepper's not like that. She won't rat you out.'

'You didn't hear what I was saying in there.'

'Anything short of personal attacks is fine. And you don't seem like the type.'

She grimaces at the memory of her outburst, and the tense stand-off that followed (completely at no fault of her own, a little voice reminds her.)

'I was tactless,' she mutters, thinking it best not to mention the family drama, and Harley chuckles.

'Don't worry. Pepper's used to it.’ He shifts in place as he rolls his shoulders, the very image of nonchalance. ‘You’d be surprised how many important people don’t actually know how to talk to a woman.’ 

Tanya stares at him, as she lets the irony of what he just said sink in.

‘Would I?’

He blinks at her, his shoulders stiffening in realisation. ‘Ah. Right. Reporter. Filigree.’ He gestures to her awkwardly as she stares back at him, impassive. ‘Right.’

‘Right.’ She can’t help it then, her lips curl up into a smirk and Harley visibly relaxes, slumping back against the wall of the waiting room. 

‘I guess you  _ would _ have experience with them.’ With care, he manages to school his expression back into something vaguely appeasing. ‘All the more reason you should feel better about yourself. I bet you’ve interviewed your fair share of bad apples.’

She lets loose an over dramatic sigh, all too happy to leave behind the memory of her most recent encounter in lieu of reminiscing about the past. ‘We do love to humanize.’

‘Do you?’

Harley Keener is looking at her again, with one of those expressions that inexplicably reminds her that he’s an asset of one of the most advanced security organisations in the world. 

‘It what Filigree does.’ Is what she goes with after a weighted silence, simply because it’s true. ‘And we have the resources to do it well.’

He sighs, a soft little sound that would sound serene if not for that harsh edge, the rough stop that ridiculously makes her feel like she’s disappointed him. Why should she care about his opinion of her? Good lord, he’s barely two years older than her for Christ sakes. 

As Tanya toils against her internal misgivings, the man in question slides down until his back is flush against the wall, his long legs folded out on the carpet with a casualness that makes her lips twitch. He’s awfully blithe, which is somehow irritating, as if he refuses to acknowledge the sheer base level anxiety she wallows in constantly, as if he doesn’t even understand that they’re in the foyer of her damn idol. 

‘You know,’ he begins with a lazy drawl. ‘You don’t have to sell it to me, right? I’m already in your corner.’

Tanya cocks her head.

‘You are?’

‘Well I got you this interview didn’t I?’

‘You also broke one of my nails and slammed a door shut in my face.’

He winces, so visibly and genuinely that it draws a wry grin to her face. ‘Good point.’ He straightens up as he continues, and Tanya mirrors the action. ‘I’ll admit that I was a bit wary of Filigree. You guys did collaborate with Hendrickson from Skyline.’

Now it’s her turn to make a face. Ugh.  _ Henrickson. _

‘Once. Years ago.’

‘I have a good memory.’

‘So what changed your mind?’ She promptly rephrases, rolling her eyes at his puzzled expression. ‘What made you give me a chance?’

Harley regards her for a second, eyes narrowed, before his hands rise up, splayed as he flattens out an imaginary headline.

‘Stark vigil snubbed: the slow insubordination of the American Senate.’ He declares, a small smirk turning his lips up at the ends. ‘ I still remember the headline.’

Tanya shudders.

‘It was a god awful one.’

Harley half scoffs, half laughs, and it’s a cheery sound that doesn’t quite match the ones he voices in his interviews. 

‘I think it’s catchy.’ 

She gives him a look that says ‘and that’s why you’re not a journalist’ and it only makes his smile widen.

‘‘See I knew you’d looked familiar,’ he says. ‘They’d posted an icon of Kia Lamar under the article. But..I guess a lot of things have changed for you since then, huh.’ 

His last addition surprisingly doesn’t make Tanya bristle. The implication is there, sure, but she had seen what a malicious Harley Keener looked like yesterday and this isn’t it. Instead, he seems genuinely curious, if a bit amused as well. 

Tanya’s brain is still attempting to process that Harley Keener read her stupid article when she realises she’s been silent for a beat too long.

‘Good memory,’ she manages after a frantic second, and to her credit, the words come out wry and flat instead of a pathetic croak. Harley shrugs.

‘Photographic. I’m not a creep.’

‘Mm. That’s always comforting to hear.’ He laughs again, a small little sound, and the panicked rampage of her brain slows to a slightly suspicious jog. ‘So you read it?’

‘Yep. I liked the part where you specifically called out the council for allowing the change to even be considered.’ Another smile from him, this time with teeth, and his eyes glint with thinly veiled glee. Tanya groans as she buries her face in her hands.

‘Jesus. I’m just remembering why we took it down. ‘

‘You regret it?’

‘I could’ve phrased a few things better.’

‘You always could’ve. But it was still a good article.’ He states simply and they sit in the weight of those words for a minute. Platitudes don’t really work on Tanya. The hang-in-there cat poster that came with her first cubicle at Filigree was always the subject of her most spiteful glares, and the moment she was promoted, she’d torn it down and burned it in her fireplace with glee. But this wasn’t a platitude. Was it? To be honest, it almost seemed as if he’d been talking to himself, judging by the way his eyes listlessly seem to scan the room around him in a rare moment of awkwardness. And no, her brain responded, five seconds late as usual, it wasn’t a platitude. Because Harley keener was too definite for those. The certainty he carried in everything he did rendered half hearted comments into something reliable. Something solid. Unbidden, Tanya’s mind conjures up the laundry list of exes Harley Keener has under his belt and reminds her that almost all of them were left on positive grounds.  _ Security _ , a voice whispers to her as his words seem to take root in her mind and solidify. It can be enchanting.

‘I’m sorry for not giving you more time for this.’ Harley begins abruptly, startling Tanya from her extremely inappropriate reverie. ‘I should’ve gotten your number at the workshop. Now I think I’ve tanked your chances. ‘

Although a small part of Tanya is screeching ‘vindication’, the wry smile that softens her features is genuine. 

‘Don’t bother.’ She waves away any further comment he might have with a flick of her wrist. ‘My papers were all already in decent order. If I crash and burn, it’s all me.’

‘And the shoes, right?’

He grins at that and she gives him a look that tells him exactly how not clever that was.

‘God, do not start.’

She’s about to say something else when Harley says something that stops her cold. 

‘I think Tony would’ve liked you.’ 

Tony-

Her mind can’t even finish the sentence, struck cold and fumbling at the notion of ‘Tony’, not ‘Tony Stark’, not ‘Mr Stark’, not ‘Anthony Edward Stark’ or even ‘Iron Man’ but _ ‘Tony’ _ and it’s a small mercy that the office doors slam open at that very moment. 

Morgan comes barrelling out into the room like she's been shot from a cannon, her face flushed with exhilaration.

'It's happening!' she says gleefully to noone in particular, then turns to Tanya, her hands clasped tight at her chest. 'Thank you so much for this opportunity!'

'Ms Montague, it's your lucky day,' Pepper says much more serenely from where she stands straight as a pillar in the doorway. 'We've decided to partner with Filigree for this project. I'm sure your superiors will be ecstatic,' she adds dryly, and it does practically nothing to curb the bewildered haze Tanya's somehow found herself in.

Harley winces sympathetically at her, just out of Pepper's line of sight and she focuses on that, tries to zero in on the fact that a) she is definitely still in Pepper's bad books and b) -

-well. She might have just pulled it off.

This can't be real. Must be a fever dream, brought on by the sheer panic that comes whenever she's faced with sincerity. Fucking Keener, he's the bane of her existence.

In her state of delirium, she almost misses Harley's swift exit, with Morgan in tow (she vaguely hears Pepper mutter something to him as he passes - 'We'll talk later' - or something along those lines and then the grimace he makes, so comically relatable). It wouldn't be supremely noteworthy, except that it meant that she was now currently alone with Pepper Stark. Again. And lord knows how awfully their first encounter went.

Tanya is the first to break the silence, as she clears her throat. 'Thank you,' she says, as genuinely as she can, and Pepper smiles. It's incrementally warmer than the one she was given during her appointment, which she counts as a win.

'Morgan made a good case for you,' she replies, her eyes softening at the thought of her daughter before they sharpen back into ice-blue daggers. 'I assume you have my contact details but just in case, I'll have my people reach out to yours.'

It's a good idea, especially because Tanya would've definitely had a hard time convincing Meredith she wouldn't be setting herself up to fail by reaching out to Pepper Stark's 'people'. Which Pepper absolutely knew.

God, she was so out of her depth.

'I look forward to working with you,' Tanya says, if only due to ingrained professional practise, and Pepper nods. It's the best she can expect in her situation. She'll count it as a win.

As she turns to leave, however, with her handbag slung loosely over her shoulder, Pepper speaks.

'Oh, and Kia?'

Tanya whips around, the very image of the devoted servant. 'Yes, Mrs Stark?'

Pepper hasn't moved from her position at the door, but she still somehow seems to fill the room with her presence. Her smile is nowhere to be seen.

'If you know what's good for you, you won't ever use Harley Keener like that again.'

Tanya swallows, and holds her purse tighter to her chest.

'Yes, ma'am.'


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyooo guess who's finally resuming this fic after literally almost a year of not updating!! this idiot!!!

It's going to be an exposé. A classic 'tell-all' piece that in fact says nothing at all yet still comes in three parts.

Three parts. One for each. Because, yes, of course, they're doing all three Stark kids.

It’s not as if it was never not the plan, simply that Tanya had revealed her attempt at 'getting ahead' knowing that any further contributions she might have would be sooner used as bedding for Meredith's hamster before it was taken into account.

Of course, she'd obviously underestimated the Starks.

'But of course, sweetheart!' Meredith had all but thrown a gift basket at her head the moment Tanya stumbled into her office. 'Look at you, getting ahead! Extending the range would be but a trifle! An honour! An opportunity, my sweet little chocolate pudding!'

And etcetera.

The point is that she'd done it. She was going to interview the Stark kids. And after the initial wave of elation came the anxiety.

The Iron Man Vigil was in three weeks. The plan was to release the expose a solid 10 days beforehand because, well, respect and moral decency for one thing. But also since ten days was the universally accepted time frame for opinions to be formed and think pieces to be written. Which meant that Tanya, and the haphazard team of people Meredith had flung at her to organise, had five days to prepare a wardrobe, a camera crew, a studio space, and a Pepper Stark approved line of questioning.

She's three days in, and Tanya is ready for a swift execution.

The project's been deemed important enough to be allocated its own office space which should've been a dream come true. Alas, the novelty of a personal space quickly wears off when you've got a team of over thirty people running around.

'Tanya!' A stout blonde comes crashing in through her office door with a rack of finely pressed dress shirts in tow and Tanya has to stifle a frustrated groan. She's been stuck in an email thread with Irene for what seems like years and this isn't helping. 'Yay or nay?'

'Wardrobe?' She asks and the blonde nods furiously.

'For Keener.'

'Then take it to Madeleine, Nicki. Wardrobe's not my department.'

'I can't find Madeleine!' Nicki whines in a way that makes it clear Tanya's been the latest stop in a long line of questioning. She sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose.

'Have you checked the toilets?'

'Obviously, Tanya, I'm not an idiot.'

Obviously. The blonde shrinks back as Tanya stalks over, her mouth already opening in some presumably hasty apology before the taller woman completely sidesteps her and slams open the door to a cacophony of sound.

'Excuse me!' Tanya shouts, shrill and clear, and in an instant, 600 square feet worth of office space and their inhabitants quiet into silence.

For a moment, she just breathes. There's at least one advantage to spearheading a project.

'Could someone tell me where Madeleine is?' She smiles sweetly as her nails drum on her doorframe, and an awkward shifting of heads ripples through the room. As the silence drags, the people sitting at the closest desks begin to inch away. ‘Quit staring at each other. Where is Madeleine Sharpe?'

'I-I think she's taking a smoke break?' someone volunteers from the back.

'On the roof?'

'Maybe?'

'Then get her back down here!' Tanya turns to Nicki, who is still standing awkwardly beside her. 'Wait in Wardrobe C, and if Madeleine isn't down in five, just pick one.'

Tanya snaps her fingers and just like that, work resumes once more. Nicki doesn’t wait another second before making a beeline to the side-room and Tanya heaves a sigh of relief. Fantastic. She knows from experience that she has around a minute or so before the noise reaches it ear-splitting standard again, so when she swings the office door shut, she does it with enough force that there's an audible smack the moment it hits Harley Keener in the face.

'Oh my god!' Tanya all but screeches and now everyone is staring, at her, at Harley _fucking_ Keener who is stumbling back and for one horrifying, world ending second, she thinks she's broken his nose. And then she sees that he isn't doubled over in pain but in _laughter_ and all the remorse she may have felt drains out of her. 'Oh my _god_ ,' she says again, as flatly as she can muster, and all it does is set him off again.

'Hey,' Harley manages to wheeze out as he straightens up, still shaking with small, extremely inappropriate giggles.

'You're early,' Tanya returns. Now that the horror has passed, all she’s left with is annoyance (she is NOT going to acknowledge the smile tugging at her lips) and a creeping discomfort. Had she gotten the time wrong? Were they behind schedule, yet again? Harley, who seems to have thankfully missed her almost-smile, merely shrugs and gestures behind him.

‘Yeah, I know. Madeleine wanted to get an early start on wardrobe though.’

Said guilty party waves from behind Harley. She has the decency to look mildly embarrassed. 

‘Is that so?’ Tanya lets her mouth turn up in a mirthless smile. ‘Well that’s interesting, considering Madeleine’s been absent from her department for half an hour. One would think you’d have to be _in_ wardrobe to _do_ wardrobe.’

The woman cringes.

‘She was just making sure I got here alright.’ Harley must be being intentionally oblivious at this point. ‘Traffic is crazy today.’

‘It’s a public holiday.’

‘Road trips are back in season.’’

There’s a pause where all Tanya does is stare. Harley is grinning wide, his eyes narrowed in a challenge, and yes, there is absolutely no question that Madeleine wants to get in his pants and honestly, it’s not worth it. She sighs a world weary sigh.

‘Fine. Go play dress up.’ She waves them away and it could just be her ego playing tricks on her but Harley almost looks disappointed. Nevertheless, he gives her a nod as he steps around her, making a beeline to the wardrobe area, and Tanya catches Madeleine by the shoulder as she tries to slink past. ‘If Keener’s wardrobe isn’t finalised by noon-‘ she hisses. ‘ - I will skin you. Got it?’

At her frantic nod, Tanya releases the poor girl and watches with narrowed eyes as they disappear into the studio labelled Wardrobe C. Only then does she slump back against her doorframe. 

My god.

‘You sounded like Meredith back there.’

Tanya doesn’t move as a woman with a head full of tightly curled ringlets sidles into view.

‘Harriet,’ she offers in acknowledgement. ‘Don’t believe I asked.’

Harriet rolls her eyes as she hands her a bundle of papers. ‘Oh shove off, Tan. You’re a pair of fishnets away from becoming the evil you so despised.’

‘What is this?’ Tanya says, neatly sidestepping the horrific concept that Harriet has so rudely introduced to her. 

‘Keener’s hair and makeup. Bruno took a look at him last time he swung by. We’re going for something natural.’

As she rifles through the stack, Tanya sweeps her eyes over the mockup photos quietly. Bruno’s managed to emphasise Keener’s features into something softer, more languid. Lazy, and unassuming but dazzling. Bright. Infallible. Most of his hair has been pushed back off his face, with two thick strands hanging down (‘for humanization’, her brain helpfully offers), his stubble has been refined ever so slightly and the lighting in whatever room they took the photos in makes his skin seem to glow. He looks...good.

‘Hm. Classic.’

Harriet twirls around wistfully.

‘Like an effortless Adonis,’ she croons, then stops short at the sight of her expression. ‘What? I’m gay, Tanya. Not blind.’

Tanya nods noncommittally as she makes her way back into her office. Harriet follows, only a few steps behind. 

‘You could learn something from me, you know?’ Harriet says. Tanya nods again, only half listening.

‘Oh? Do elaborate.’

‘Okay well let’s put it this way.’ Harriet says as she shuts the door behind them. ‘I’m not the one who hit him in the face with a door. And after all he’s done for you too.’

Tanya slides back into her desk chair with a roll of her eyes. ‘Oh please.’

Harriet ignores her very scathing retort and promptly sits her ass on the end of her desk, peering over Tanya’s shoulder as she scrawls in a rough signature of approval on the quality check sheet. ‘Try thawing out those edges a little, Tan,’ she murmurs. ‘He’d be a useful guy to have in your corner.’

At that, her head shoots up, indignant. ‘Don’t say it like that.’

‘Say it like what?’

‘Like I’m using him.’

Harriet quirks a perfectly manicured eyebrow. ‘Isn’t that what you’re doing?’

And with that, she snatches the approved bundle of sheets from the desk and is out the door before Tanya can even begin to form a retort. The silence she leaves behind is heavy, and Tanya scowls against it, incomprehensibly irritated.

With a quick breath, she shoves all thoughts of Harley Keener out of her mind and directs her glare towards her laptop screen. 

After all, this email thread isn't going to resolve itself.

—

A few hours later there’s a knock on her door. Tanya gives a noncommittal grunt. It’s the best she can offer right now but it does its job, and the door swings open. 

‘Hey there.’ Harley Keener peers into her office like he’s stepping into an active war zone. Amidst mountains of paperwork and bulletin boards littered with post it notes, Tanya considers that the idea might not be baseless.

‘Hi.’

Harley apparently takes that as a good sign because he takes another step inside, closing the door behind him as he maneuvers his way to the couch. ‘I’m done for the day, so I’m just heading out. You need anything?’

Tanya gives him a look.

‘Shouldn’t I be asking you that?’

‘Well I’m swinging by Pepper’s. If you need anything delivered, then-‘

Puzzlement wrinkles her features into a squint. ‘Delivered?’ she says. ‘ We have actual employees for that.’

Harley looks like a deer in the headlights and as the seconds of silence tick by, a terrible realisation dawns upon her.

‘Are you serious.’

‘It was just something small, the mock-up for Morgan’s dress-‘

‘Oh my god.’ Tanya buries her head in her hands and resists the urge to scream.

‘It’s really not that big of a deal.’

Not that big of a deal? Not that _big_ of a _deal_ ? Tanya Montague’s design team just used Harley fucking Keener, a Stark and independent asset of SHIELD, as a _delivery boy_ . How was this not a big deal? How could she have let this happen? Pepper’s words ring shrilly in her mind - _'If you know what's good for you, you won't ever use Harley Keener like that again.’_ \- and a bolt of pure panic lances straight through her heart.

Tanya’s head rises from her hands like a monster rising from the deep.

‘Who was it,’ she hisses and Harley laughs a nervous, wavering little laugh.

‘Do I look like a snitch?’

‘I’ll tell you what you don’t look like. A delivery boy!’ she yells and he winces, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck in simulated nonchalance.

‘You’d be surprised by how many of them are actually very photogenic.’

She levels an even stare at him. ‘Harley, I’m serious.’

He returns it, unwavering. ‘So am I.’

‘God,’ she groans as she drags her hand down her face in world weary frustration. ‘Why aren’t you upset about it? They used you like a delivery man.’

He shrugs. ‘Well I got a frapp for my trouble so I’m satisfied with the transaction personally.’

‘How?’

‘Hm?’

How can you be satisfied with that?’ she snaps, her voice disconcertingly harsh. How can that be enough?’

He stares at her, brow furrowed. ‘I don’t-‘ he says. ‘Is this still about-‘

‘I mean don’t you feel insulted?’ The flood of words rushes out of her mouth before she can even think about why letting them leave might be a bad idea. ‘We give this sort of thing to-to assistants or interns, not people like you! There’s a process! And you’re just being-!’

‘Used?’

He’s got a look on his face that somehow makes her stop, breathe, gulp down air as she slumps back into her desk chair. When she finally musters enough strength to flick her gaze back up to him, slow mortification colouring her cheeks with a burning flush, his expression is uncharacteristically soft.

‘Tanya. I know when I’m being used,’ he says and she flinches. ‘You tend to get pretty good at recognizing it when you live a life like mine.’

She’s about to open her mouth to apologise before he cuts her off with a raised finger.

‘And!’ he emphasises. ‘You used me, yes, but it only happened because I let it. I got you this interview because I thought you could make this work. And I’m here to make sure it does.’

With that, he leans back against the couch, and she can’t even feel upset that he’s crushing one of her mockups. Later, when she’s forced to try evening out the folds by pressing it under four encyclopedias, yes, she absolutely will. But not now, when the weight of what he’s just said seems to anchor her down in her seat.

‘Why?’ She finds herself muttering. ‘Why do you even care?’

Harley watches her with a glint in his eye that she can’t quite put a feeling to ‘Because I liked your article,’ he says finally. ‘And I believed you when you said you were the same person.’

‘What, that cliche actually worked on you?’ she tries weakly, struck dumb in face of his full hearted sincerity, and he chuckles. 

‘Cliches only become cliches if there’s something appealing about ‘em. And besides, I also felt guilty about your nails.’ He grins, and the heavy air in the room seems to dissipate. ‘Consider this an apology.’

The way Harley manages to neatly disperse the tension in a room with a simple off hand comment feels smooth and practised, but Tanya is so relieved at the change in topic that her mind doesn’t even have time to evaluate that thought further 

‘With all this, you’d think _you_ were the one who dropped info _my worksho_ p unannounced,’ she eventually grumbles. Harley quirks an eyebrow, his lips turned up into a disbelieving smile.

‘Unannounced? You thought I didn’t know you were coming?’ 

You-‘ Tanya starts and immediately stops, the cogs whirring in her mind as Harley’s smile widens. ‘Benji,’ she hisses, her voice low and grating as Harley unabashedly bursts into laughter. ‘I’m going to throw his pot plant into the garbage disposal.’

‘Don’t bother,’ Harley pauses to wipe tears from his eyes. ‘He’ll kill it himself when he forgets to water it by next week.’

Tanya raises an eyebrow quizzically. ‘So you know him well?’

There’s mirth in his eyes. ‘You could say that.’

Oh. 

Tanya’s eyes widen.

_Oh._

‘You didn’t.’

Harley shrugs. ‘He knows where I live, doesn’t he?’

‘I thought he was just your contact in Filigree!’ She throws her hands up in the air in exasperation, mind reeling from this new revelation, while Harley continues to lounge on her couch, nonchalant as ever.

‘People can be more than one thing, you know.’

His response makes her stop in her tracks as her ingrained sense of professionalism squawks in disgust. 

‘Now that-’ she stops to jab an accusing finger at him.’-is unprofessional.’

‘Says you. Who was the one who made sure little ol’ me was an accomplice in her grand scheme?’

‘You’re twenty seven,’ she responds flatly.

‘And? I’m very easy to influence.’

‘Is that the excuse you’re using? For your time as a temporary delivery man?’ 

Harley lets his head fall to the back of the couch with a long suffering groan. 

‘God, are we still on this?’ 

‘Yes, unfortunately. I can’t exactly let it go.’

After a pause, Harley sits himself up and shoots her a look. ‘Listen. If you genuinely want me to stop, I will. But all I’ll say is that I get through security checks much faster than any assistant you may have.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yeah, it’s a perk that comes with the position. So what do you say?’ At that, he leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees as he flashes a beaming grin. ‘I could speed up the process for you.’

For a moment, Tanya considers it. After all, they are behind schedule, even with the all-nighters she’s been pulling, and at some point, concealer just doesn’t do enough for eyebags, no matter what you try. But her ears are still ringing with the memory of Pepper Stark, tall and icy and as powerful as frostbite nipping at her heels.

‘The answer is no,’ she finally says and he sighs, a crestfallen smile toying at his lips. ‘You do any more work for us and I’ll be forced to pay you a wage.’

‘And we wouldn’t want that would we?’

‘I’m sure your resume is long enough without this extra recommendation so no.’

Harley holds her gaze, steady, and his smile twists into something more knowing.

‘Pepper talked to you didn’t she?’

You know she did, Keener.’

With that, he slumps back against the couch, deflated. Seems like even the ever-unwavering Harley Keener realises when he’s been beaten.

‘Ah well. It was fun while it lasted but alas, my legacy as a delivery boy…’ He pries open an eye to glance at her forlornly. She returns the gaze, amused but certain.

‘Dead.’

‘Harsh, but understandable.’ At that, he gets to his feet with a world weary sigh, as if to leave and Tanya finds her mouth opening again before she can think better.

‘And you know, Keener-’ she says and his eyes flick to her once more. ‘-for what it’s worth, Pepper Stark isn’t the only reason I’m doing this. I wasn’t too chuffed about basing our relationship on what you could do for me. So. There’s that.’

He blinks at her, surprisingly rendered speechless for a moment.

‘Relationship?’ he manages eloquently and the squeak in his voice makes blood rush to her cheeks.

‘Do _not_ say it like that,’ she snaps but there isn’t any weight behind it and Harley’s face breaks out into a beaming grin. ‘I just think that at this point, we can safely say the term acquaintances no longer applies.’

Somehow, she’s managed to express what should’ve been an olive branch in the most awkward way possible and Tanya internally cringes, her eyes flicking up from the paperwork she’s been distracting herself with, only to catch sight of a light blush dusting the tips of Harley’s ears. It’s nothing dramatic, just a subtle flush, but it makes her stop and stare. Harley’s slightly angled away from her, his face mostly obscured from where he’s turned towards the office door, and his the ever-present ease in his stance is nowhere to be found, his body all stiff angles and awkward lankiness.

‘I uh...agree,’ is all he says and this time it’s Tanya’s turn to grin. So Harley Keener can dole it out but can’t take it? _Interesting._

‘Well! I’m assuming this is my cue to leave,’ he adds, seamlessly transitioning back into his suave self. Tanya peers at him as she rests her chin in her hands, more than a little smugness.

‘Presumably,’ she drawls. ‘You’ve taken up more than enough time already. And Harley?’

His hand freezes in the air where it hovers above the door handle.

‘Yeah?’

‘Don’t forget to come in tomorrow at 2pm. We still need to colour check you.’

The slight note of nervous stiffness bleeds out of his shoulders as he regards her for a moment.

‘You’re the boss, boss,’ he says finally, his hand resting on the door handle as he flashes one of his trademark smirks her way. ‘And...I guess I’ll see you around, Montague.’

She rolls her eyes, but her smile hasn’t left. 

‘Yeah. See you around.’

\--

They’re shooting it in an open studio. High ceilings, generous windows - they’re trying to make the most of the meagre natural light. With the amount of ring lights and matte backdrops hanging around the set, they’re not exactly doing the best job but at least they’re trying.

‘Artificiality,’ Meredith would always say. ‘It’s as much of a blemish as a black eye.’

It’s just like Bruno to try to do a natural look in the middle of a cold snap. The weather is so dreary that by the time Tanya finds herself looking at her watch, she’s almost hoping that something came up, Morgan has to do her homework, Peter Parker has to save the world. Anything to reschedule.

Obviously, she’s not nearly that lucky. 

‘Nice setup you’ve got going on.’

Harley Keener saunters up until he’s level with her and she doesn’t even bother looking up from her clipboard. 

‘Very white,’ he adds.

‘It’s a purity thing,’ she answers absentmindedly as she ticks off some boxes from the itinerary. ‘You better not be tracking mud in here.’

‘I kind of got the memo from the four separate doormats outside.’

‘There’s five, actually. You missed one.’ 

‘And you call me excessive.’ 

Momentarily satisfied, Tanya finally spares him a glance, and her expression sours. ‘You’re not wearing your wardrobe.’

And he wasn’t. Didn’t even have it in a bag slung over his shoulder and she was sure, she was certain she saw him take it back home with him the other day. He smirks.

‘What’s wrong? The black tank top not jiving with your moodboard?’

‘Harley.’

‘Sorry, sorry. I gave it to Madeleine to keep an eye on. My main mode of transport isn’t exactly kind to dress shirts.’ At the sound of her name, the woman darts a look at the two of them sharply. She volunteers a nervous wave and Harley returns one, obliviously enthusiastic. ‘Motor oil stains like a bitch.’ He adds at her unwavering glare. 

‘Go get changed. Photoshoot is first on the itinerary.’

Harley disappears behind the folding screen with a grin and a wave and when Madeleine finally drags her eyes away from his ass, she visibly flinches under Tanya’s gaze. 

‘Professionalism,’ Tanya rolls her eyes as Madeleine scurries away behind a rack of clothes. From behind her, Harriet hisses.

‘Fishneeeeeets.’

Before she has time to push her away, another voice pipes up. 

‘C’mon, Tan, it’s like being vegan,’ says Nicki, who had switched over to a vegan diet three days ago and would not shut up about it. ‘You can look at the menu all you like, so long as you don’t eat it.’

‘I feel like you’re doing this vegan thing wrong,’ Harriet contributes with an odd look.

‘It’s an analogy.’

‘ _It_ -‘ Tanya interrupts, irritated. ‘-is a PR nightmare waiting to happen.’ 

‘Would it really be so bad if one of your staff was in a relationship with Harley Keener?’ Nicki whines as she rifles absently through a nearby clothing rack. ‘Think of the connections!’

Tanya snorts. ‘They’re not in a relationship! She’s just staring at his butt and slacking off!’

‘They talk sometimes! You just don’t see it!’

‘And!’ Harriet butts in. ‘It wouldn’t hurt to have _someone_ on this team who got along with him. Isn’t that right Mrs I-slammed-a-door-in-the-face-of-America’s-Hottest-Eligible-Bachelor-and-didn’t-even-say-sorry?’

Damn it. She has a point. Tanya glowers at her clipboard.

‘I was apologetic.’ 

‘Uh huh.’

She smacks her pen down on the trolley of hair products Harriet is wheeling, stopping it dead in its tracks and, to her utmost frustration, the curly-haired woman doesn’t even jump. 

‘He could tell! We have an understanding.’

‘Sure.’

‘Yeah, you’re really the type to have an ‘understanding’ with Harley Keener,’ contributes Nicki.

‘Well I have his phone number don’t I?’ Tanya says, brandishing her phone like it’s key evidence in a court case. Nicki returns her stare, nonplussed.

‘See, I think that’s more of a professional courtesy.’

‘And - you didn’t let me finish - a text chain.’

‘You have a _what_?’

Now that gets their attention. Within moments, Tanya’s phone is snatched out of her hand and Nicki is zooming over to pore over the screen from behind Harriet’s shoulder. Seconds later, both their expressions crumple in disappointment.

‘God, what are you, his mother?’ Nicki wrinkles her nose in disgust. ‘You’re just sending him reminders.’

Tanya shifts awkwardly in place, frowning. ‘What else would I be doing?’

‘Ask him about his day? I mean look, here he’s said ‘what’s going on with you’. He’s basically _screaming_ that he wants to know you better.’

Blood rushes to Tanya’s cheeks as she yanks her phone out of Harriet’s hands, ignoring both women’s despairing groans.

‘Give me that, I didn’t tell you you could scroll back that far.’ As she calms the redness of a face to a more sensible tinge, she adds with a low murmur, ‘He’s just being nice.’

Harriet remains unphased, quirking an incredulous eyebrow even as Nicki, now bored, wanders off to flirt with one of the makeup artists.

‘How the hell do you deal with slime balls on the reg with the patience and serenity of Buddha himself, but the moment you get faced with an ounce of sincerity, your brain gets fried?’

The memory of her encounter with Harley in Pepper Stark’s waiting room flashes bright and vivid in her mind.

_‘I think Tony would’ve liked you.’_

One word, one name and it was like the gap between the two of them doubled in size. _Tony._ Saying it like that...it almost sounded as if the man was like any other person.

‘They’re Starks,’ Tanya mutters, barely above a whisper. ‘Practically heirs to an empire. It’s different.’

Whatever Harriet was about to say in response is cut off short by Harley Keener’s face peeking around the edge of the folding screen, his eyes lighting up as soon as he catches sight of her.

‘Oi Montague!’ he says as he makes his way over. Harriet pats her on her shoulder comfortingly.

‘Play nice,’ she mouths, far too clearly with Harley being so close and Tanya resists the urge to throw her pen at her gleefully retreating back. Alas, any thought of it escapes her the instant she turns around to meet Harley only to find him already standing in front of her.

God, he’s tall. It sparks a small burst of irritation in her gut, the fact that she’s wearing heels and he’s wearing flat sole boots and she’s still only just at eye level. He didn’t seem this tall in the waiting room, did he? Well, he was slouching then, god knows he needs to work on his general posture but he’s just -

Oh, wait he’s talking.

‘-which means that Morgan’s running a little behind schedule but she’s gonna rendezvous with her stylists en route so she says not to wait up,’ Harley says, clearly not noticing that Tanya’s only just started paying attention. ‘Also, Pete’s got caught up in a scuffle downtown so he’s gonna be making a late entrance. That cool?’

Good lord. First the rain, now this? Tanya promptly forgets about her extremely inappropriate mental detour to internally groan. It really does seem like today can’t make anything go right for her.

‘Can you ask him for a time frame?’ she finally says, hoping that her exasperation isn’t too prevalent. Harley gives her a sympathetic smile.

‘Yeah, he said another fifteen minutes, tops. What are you doing?’ he adds, somewhat surprised, even as he obediently lets her fiddle with the collar of his shirt.

‘Fixing your collar.’

‘It’s supposed to be open.’

She gives a look. ‘I know that, I signed off on it. You’ve creased it is all. There.’

With one final pat, she steps back to survey her work only to notice an odd expression on Harley’s face.

‘You okay?’

‘Ah yeah.’ As if he’s only just remembered who he is, Harley summons one of his signature smirks, leaning on his back foot as he cocks his head her way. ‘That was just...very motherly of you.’

She glares at him, willing the rising flush of red at her neck to _quit it,_ thank you very much, even as his shit eating grin widens.

‘Don’t make me slap you,’ she states simply and he laughs.

‘Hair and makeup now, right?’

‘Yep, it’s just around there. Bruno will handle it for you.’

The man in question perks up at the sound of his name and waves animatedly from where he’s leaning on the portable vanity, flashing a wide beaming grin to the man before him. Harley moves to walk past, his lips already twitching up into a flirtatious smirk, but Tanya stops him quickly with a hand to his chest.

‘Oh and do try not to screw any more of my coworkers,’ she says wryly. ‘ At least not here. It’ll make for an awkward lunch break.’

Harley’s face twists into a mock-thoughtful look, before he abandons the attempt and winks at Bruno. 

‘Can’t make any promises,’ is all he offers before he’s brushing past and Tanya rolls her eyes extra hard at his retreating form. 

For all that he’s an irredeemable flirt, at least the man is honest. That's proven correct for a second time when Morgan Stark herself arrives minutes later, flushed and breathless but almost impeccably dressed as she bursts into the studio.

And also a third, when exactly 14 minutes and 35 seconds after Tanya had her conversation with Harley, one very apologetic Peter Parker comes running in as well. 

As the one Stark child that Tanya simultaneously knows the most about and has spent the least time with, seeing Peter Parker stagger in with apologies spilling from his lips with an almost disconcerting sincerity is...bracing. He shakes her hand with fervour, even as he swipes dust and what looks like wood splinters from his shoulders.

‘Really sorry about all that, there was an issue downtown I had to deal with. You know how it is,’ he adds with an awkward laugh and she returns it. He’s strangely..normal, with his bedraggled bedhead of a hairstyle and his warm brown eyes. It’s almost too easy to ignore the web-shooters still clasped to his wrists, and the piled up Spider-Man suit he’s got tucked under his arm. 

‘About time you showed up, Parker!’ Harley yells from where he’s quite unnecessarily overseeing Bruno doing some last minute touch ups to Morgan’s makeup. ‘And here I thought you didn’t believe in being fashionably late.’

And just like that, Peter’s expression morphs into something more languid, more comfortable as he rolls his eyes and pointedly ignores the older man. 

‘I really hope he hasn’t been making trouble for you,’ he says to her and she can’t help the appreciative grin that spreads across her features. ‘I’m the responsible one, if you couldn’t already tell.’

She laughs, ridiculously upbeat at the prospect of meeting someone who can relate to her frustration. ‘It’s very obvious,’ she manages and Parker’s eyes glitter with warmth. 

‘And...thank you, by the way. For doing this,’ he whispers, secretive but earnest. His brown eyes flick over to where Morgan, now presumably finished with her touch ups, spins around to kick up the skirt of her dress and strikes a pose for Harley’s benefit. The look in his eyes is so warm, so genuinely fond and quietly loving that Tanya finds her smug grin slipping, and she has to look away. ‘Morgan is...special, as I’m sure you know.’ he continues. ‘And what you’re trying to do here...we all appreciate it. We really do.’ 

Unbidden, Harriet’s sardonic voice springs to mind and Tanya grimaces internally. 

_The moment you get faced with an ounce of sincerity, your brain gets fried_.

She hates to admit it, but the woman had a point.

Mustering up all her strength, she pats at Peter’s shoulder half heartedly and hopes that it conveys enough.

‘It’s really my pleasure,’ she says. ‘You-I mean, _all_ of you have done so much for everyone.’ She gestures uselessly at where Morgan and Harley are talking animatedly. ‘This barely makes a dent in what we owe you.’

Peter’s expression gains a hint of concern. ‘It’s not really about owing people.’ he says and Tanya practically trips over herself to save the conversation.

‘No, no, of course not!’ she manages and from the corner of her eye she can see Harley looking up to stare at the two of them quizzically. ‘That’s not what I meant. I meant-’ She stops, her brain coming up short as she blinks frantically, hoping for something to come to mind when her eyes snag onto the sight of her single broken nail on her left hand.

A blemish, presumably. A disturbance to her otherwise pristine image but it makes her stop and breathe.

‘My brother, Lucas-’ she says and Parker tilts his head to see her face, all patience and understanding and god, she understands the public adoration now, she really does. ‘He...he died. In the-the first one,’ she mutters, still not totally sure how to refer to the event to someone who was physically there but the man before her nods, a small smile gracing his features. ‘And he’s back now. Has been for a while now. And he’s in college right now actually, studying medicine just like our mom did and he’s just -’ 

She pauses, just to take a breath, and she almost expects that ever-present murmur of anxiety to take over her in her lapse of weakness, to choke the next words from leaving with indecision and self doubt, but the breath ends and she speaks.

‘-he’s living.’ 

She swallows. ‘ And I guess I’ve found it unfair for a while now. How hard it seems for you, and everyone around you I suppose...to just live.’

Peter’s eyes seem to have gained a wistful quality, and his gaze slides from her face to land upon the inexplicably energetic pair prancing around behind her.

‘Yeah,’ he mumbles, not with malice but a sort of reluctant acceptance that ridiculously makes Tanya’s stomach twist. With a small step, she joins him at his side, her eyes catching on the flashy red material of Morgan’s dress. 

She’s...small. Not exactly stunted in growth, in fact she’s a perfectly acceptable height for a thirteen year old who hasn’t _quite_ hit her growth spurt, but seeing her next to Harley makes her seem practically dwarf-like. 

And yet.

Tanya thinks back to the way Morgan had barged into the studio, a blur of red that screeched to a stop the moment she caught sight of the older woman. And then she’d shaken her hand, her expression almost comically firm as she thanked Tanya for the opportunity (again) and strode off towards hair and makeup, all purpose with none of the bluster that usually comes with it. And then, only a few steps behind her, a man with a stern expression who gave Tanya’s entire set up a brief once-over before he frowned, unimpressed, and she’d never admit it but for a second, she’d considered abandoning ship right then and there. But fears and insecurity were shoved to the side the moment she turned to see that Morgan had returned, this time with a small tinge of red at her cheeks that had nothing to do with her breathlessness.

‘By the way,’ she’d murmured. ‘I’m...sorry that you had to see all that. At mom’s office.’

It had taken her a moment to realise what she was talking about, but the second she did, she couldn’t help blinking in surprise. It made sense that Morgan would still be hung up on that strangely tense confrontation since, to be fair, it didn’t happen that long ago but after all the buzz and stress of organising this photoshoot, the memory had been long deemed unnecessary and pushed to the side. Morgan had straightened up then, still painfully short in comparison to Tanya in heels, but she held a serious look in her eye that made Tanya’s half-conjured laugh die in her throat.

‘I hope you won’t think badly of Mom for it. Or me,’ she adds quietly and it’s almost disconcerting how mature she sounds, as if she’s reading off a script or paraphrasing legal papers and Tanya schools her expression into something playfully conspiring as she leans down, thinking back to how her brother would do the same to her when they were kids.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ she whispers. ‘You’re doing just fine in my eyes. And I’ll tell you a secret…’

And she’d muttered something innocuous but flashy, a little fun anecdote from an old interview that was harmless in reality but would probably sound scandalising to a sheltered thirteen year old. And sure enough, it had gotten a squeal from the girl, so giddy that she’d immediately clapped a hand over her mouth, even as her eyes glittered with mirth. From behind her, Tanya had noticed the way Harley nodded approvingly, oddly serious, as he gave her a swift thumbs up, and it had made her flush again with mild embarrassment.

Whatever. The brief mortification and knowledge that Harley had definitely seen the whole thing had been worth it. Morgan had trotted off back to her surrogate brother with a new skip in her step and (more importantly) she’d finally just seemed like a kid.

Now steadfastly back in the present, Tanya flicks her gaze over to the man standing beside her. It’s almost impossible to think that they’re the same age, even if he _should_ feasibly be five years her senior. His maturity is obvious in the set line of his shoulders, that quick sharpness in his eyes that is so easy to miss. Absently, she thinks about the immediate aftermath of the death of Iron Man, how he must have felt personally and resists the urge to pat him on the back.

‘So,’ she clears her throat, and he startles (not by much, just a brief hitch of his shoulders before he’s settling down again). ‘I’m guessing that that’s a better excuse than owing people.’

A mischievous grin splits across his face, one that makes him seem much more like the twenty-five-year-old he allegedly is, and he opens his mouth to respond only to be interrupted by a muscled arm slinging its way across his shoulders.

‘And what are y'all doin’ over here, huh, you damn ruffian?’ Harley says in an overdramatic affectation of a southern drawl and Peter instantly groans, his hands automatically shooting up to shield his hair from the older man’s playful ruffles. ‘You’re sure taking your sweet time over here, lookin’ like that. Or are you planning on doing a photoshoot looking like you just got your ass handed to you?’

Peter scowls, swiftly ducking out of Harley’s headlock with practised ease.

‘You try being thrown through three layers of drywall and still looking good,’ he shouts back even as he makes a beeline to the hair and makeup area. Tanya watches him go, a small smile playing at her lips before she turns to Harley and promptly lets it fall into a frown. 

‘What’s with that face?’ she asks as he pushes his bottom lip out into a pout. 

‘You looked awfully chummy with Spidey just now. Why can’t you do the same for me?’ he whines pitifully and she scoffs.

‘He’s ‘friendly neighbourhood Spiderman’ for a reason, Keener. He’s easy to get along with.’

He bumps his shoulder against hers good naturedly. ‘You called me charming once.’

‘Once.’ she admits flatly. ‘And there’s a big difference between ‘easy to get along with’ and _‘charming’_.’

He chuckles at that, deep and warm. 

‘You’ll have to explain it to me later,’ he mutters in her ear as he nudges her forward with his elbow at the small of her back towards her dutifully waiting crew. ‘Right now, you have a job to do.’

And so she does. The moment Parker gets the all good from Bruno and Madeleine, she directs all three Starks towards the backdrop and takes her place off to the side as guiding director. Benji, who managed to show up just in time, takes a seat next to the camera set up and pointedly does _not_ return her knowing glare as he positions all three into various group poses, all designed to look purposefully candid. Tanya occasionally contributes what she hopes is helpful critique, but keeps it to a minimum. As much as she takes pleasure in pristine appearances, photography is Benji’s stomping ground, not hers, and so she spends most of her time as general enforcer of the peace, hushing potentially distracting gossip and directing assistants to help alter the set at Benji’s direction. She also soon realises that one of her duties is to apparently stop Harley from trying to eat the prop apples, but she only has to do it twice which she considers a victory in and of itself. 

Soon, it’s time for individual portraits. It would make sense for Peter to go first in this regard (god knows his schedule seems like the tightest out of all three of them) but Harley insists he follow his lead, citing the younger man’s lack of familiarity with such things as justification and, to Tanya’s surprise, he agrees. With further thought, she supposes it makes sense. Spiderman isn’t exactly new to the more social side of his job, but most of his articles have been based around charity work. Fluffy magazines like Filigree, the stuff that sustains itself on photogenic muses and poise in every action would definitely not be in his wheelhouse.

Still. Tanya has a sneaking suspicion that he only agrees to make fun of his older brother, and as she watches him brandish his phone with an uncharacteristically sadistic grin, she finds that the idea might not be baseless.

Harley’s justification still holds water, though. The man’s been the subject of many _many_ photospreads, some of them outright shamelessly pandering to his more ‘physical’ gifts than others and it shows in the way he holds himself the moment he steps in front of the camera. When Benji throws his prop apple back to the taller man, he catches it with a sly grin and winks, clearly enjoying himself as Benji stutters his way through his laundry list of directions.

Stand like this, arms up, tilt your head back, just like that, we want to see your tattoo after all…

Tanya lets the endless surge of instructions wash over her like a wave. There’s a part of her that wonders how Benji can even talk to the man like that - ‘Spread your legs a bit wider, maybe jut your hip out a little?’ - now that she knows their uh. Shared history. And yes, she realises that he loses most of his nervousness once he really gets into his element but _Jesus_. She watches as Benji presses his hands into the line of Harley’s hips and physically drags him forward in a mimicry of a thrusting movement and returns Harley’s knowing grin with an unimpressed look. At the side, Madeleine is none too subtly snapping photos on her phone while beside her, Morgan and Peter appear to be sharing similarly exasperated looks. Tanya sighs.

The whole process is excruciating, and she tells Harley so when he saunters his way off the backdrop.

He laughs at that, pausing only to take another bite out of his apple. She glowers at the sight of it, but says nothing. His part is over so she’ll allow it.

‘What can I say?’ he says. ‘The man knows my good angles.’

She barely has time to acknowledge his response with a roll of her eyes before she has to direct Peter Parker onto the backdrop, one hand at his back as the other presses another apple into the palm of his hand. He gives her a bashful nod, as he awkwardly stumbles onto set and she watches him do what she assumes is his very best.

They do end up getting quite a few good shots in, but it’s only after Harley and Morgan seem to have an animated conversation with him does he seem to relax. There’s still a note of awkward self consciousness there, but it’s endearing, and she musters up a half hearted thumbs up for him the moment he steps off the set. He meets it with a good-natured scoff and takes up a position at Harley’s side.

‘I really don’t know how you do it,’ she hears him mutter, and Harley makes a show of smoothing out the wrinkles in his jacket. Whatever he says in response is too quiet to hear, but it makes Peter punch him lightly in the arm, and his face lights up with a wry smile.

The final portrait is the most important one. Morgan Stark herself. As her crew mills around the backdrop, resetting the pristine background one final time, Tanya finds herself seeking out the girl from where she’s sitting on one of the vanity stools, sipping lightly at a juicebox as she stares into the crowd. One of her hands is tightly clenched at her side and Tanya frowns at the sight of it. She turns to elbow Harley sharply in his ribs and he wheezes in a mockery of pain.

‘What?’ he says, and she points to where his younger sister is sitting.

‘Do you...maybe wanna go over there? And talk to her?’ she provides helplessly and his eyes gain a knowing look about them. 

‘Ah.’

‘I’d do it myself but I don’t think I’d be a very soothing presence.’ She grimaces. ‘The extent of my ability with children is to tell them funny anecdotes about my job and that’s it.’

He flicks his eyes down to hers, just for a moment, but the expression there is warm and genuinely thankful before he’s off in a flash, smoothly sidling up to his surrogate sister and sitting down beside her like it’s second nature. Tanya doesn’t bother to stick around to hear what he says, and yes, some part of it is due to the fact that Harriet is talking to Peter Parker at the drinks station and she has to put a stop to that situation like _yesterday_ , but she also knows enough to respect a kid’s privacy. 

And when she returns to the set with Harriet sullenly in tow, Morgan is already in place, her golden apple in hand and a firm look in her eyes. 

Benji takes the least amount of time to take her portrait. He shares the reason openly - he knew the moment after he took the first shot that it was the one. When he slides the camera over to Tanya, she can’t help but agree. 

Now with the photoshoot portion done and dusted, it’s finally time for Tanya to shine. Or crash and burn, a poisonous voice wheedles in her ear and she clutches her notepad and portable recorder to her chest. She knows that the photoshoot is more frill than substance. When this article comes out, all eyes will be on the interviews. And, Tanya reminds herself as she glances at where Morgan is casually sprawled out on a chair, this is one article she _cannot_ afford to fuck up.

Tanya breathes out a shuddering breath as she watches her crew position chairs on the set, blocking in a carefully tailored yet seemingly candid arrangement of side tables and chairs as Benji fiddles with the settings on his camera. They won’t be recording the whole thing, but Benji mentioned it might break up a potentially intimidating profile format with some unessential photos of the whole thing.

‘Authenticity,’ she finds herself mouthing to herself. Yet another one of Meredith’s gems of wisdom. 

‘Oi. Montague.’

The sound of Harley’s voice makes her almost jump out of her skin, and she whips around to face him, probably too fast judging by his surprised expression.

‘Harley!’ she barks out, also too loud, and his eyebrow quirks up in question. 

‘Are you alright?’ he mutters in a hushed tone, shifting as if to shield her from any other prying looks. Her grip tightens on her notepad.

‘I’m fine!’ she snaps, then immediately shakes her head, knowing that dedicating to such an obvious lie in front of him won’t do much good. ‘Sorry. No, I’m-I-’

She swallows hard, desperately trying to remember how the hell he’d phrased it back in her office. 

‘I want to make this work,’ she croaks out and audibly seethes, resisting the urge to pinch her nose, if only not to smudge the highlight nearby. ‘God, I really _really_ want to make this work.’

‘You’re _going_ to.’

She scoffs but the sound is harsh, even to her ears. 

‘Thanks for the vote of confidence.’

Harley frowns.

‘You’re getting in your own head.’

‘Yeah, no shit.’ Tanya groans. ‘Ugh, I’m sorry. That was-that was uncalled for.’

The older man leans to the side, nonchalant. 

‘Hey, if you need to curse me out to feel like you can do this, I’d be more than willing.’

‘Ugh, no. stop. Don’t do that.’ She flaps her hands around in what she hopes is an understandable gesture. ‘We agreed that you’d stop doing that.’

‘Doing what?’

‘Letting people just. Walk all over you. You’re Harley Keener!’ At that, her brief bout of annoyance drains out of her and she slumps back against the wall again. ‘God, you’re Harley keener.’

Harley regards her with a note of amusement. 

‘Yeah, we met a while ago. I was in a relationship with your coworker. And I annoy the shit out of you constantly. Any of this ringing a bell?’

Tanya’s about to say something very witty and scathing when something makes her stop short.

‘Wait. _Was_?’

‘Yeah? I’m single.’ Harley’s expression grows more incredulous with each passing second. ‘You’re a reporter for Filigree. Shouldn’t you know this already?’

She resists the urge to pout and instead crosses her arms across her chest, glowering.

‘Well I didn’t know about you and Benji at all, so that shows what I know.’

With a sigh, Harley takes a place leaning against the wall beside her, and his voice takes on a softer tone.

‘You know how to spell incorrigible,’ he says fondly. ‘And not realise you’ve already called me that twice in a 20 minute long text chain.’

Tanya sniffs primly in response. ‘To be fair. It was warranted, all three times.’

At that, he laughs again and she manages to sneak a sideways glance at him from the corner of her eye. She’s apparently not as subtle as she thought she was though, because he turns to her with a knowing look and smirks as he watched blood rush to her cheeks once more.

‘You have so much faith in me,’ she grumbles.

‘Because you’re impressive.’

She gives him a long look. ‘You take down bad guys for a living.’

‘And intimidate wayward reporters too. Don’t forget that.’

Tanya grits her teeth. ‘This is important, Harley.’

Abruptly, he pushes himself off the wall to glare at her.

‘You don’t think I know that?’ he says, and there’s a few seconds where Tanya simply stares at him, because it’s the first time he’s ever worn such a twisted expression. He rubs at his face with a heavy sigh and his narrowed eyes focus its steady glower on a spot on the floor. ‘Do you wanna know the real reason I remember that article of yours?’ he mutters. ‘It wasn’t because of the headline because I agree with you, it sucked.’

In face of her continuing silence, Harley’s shoulders tense and he draws himself up to full height.

‘It’s because I read it almost every day,’ he says softly. ‘You were mad at what the council was doing. I could feel it. You were genuinely angry and it felt good to have someone who wasn’t already a part of all this shit to feel for us.’

Tanya’s mind feels like it’s been suffering a never-ending barrage of information, and Harley’s latest phrase sends her reeling. Not only did Harley Keener read her article, but he did it _multiple_ times. Meanwhile, present day Harley Keener has begun to idly pace around their small corner of the room. 

‘It was the first article I saw that talked about it at all! And sure, it got taken down after a week, but it started something! People talked about what the Senate were doing and the change got pulled! That was important! It mattered!’ At that he comes to a stop before her, and the frustration seems to bleed out of him until his shoulders are slumped and he’s back in his terrible terrible slouch. ‘And you know…’ he says, suddenly sheepish. ‘ I was actually gonna try email you afterwards. Like a thank you. But you changed your profile instantly, I couldn’t find you. I just thought you got fired.’

Tanya, having finally caught up with reality, shakes her head with a grimace.

‘I nearly did.’

In fact, she’d had to work her ass off to get a crumb’s worth of praise from Meredith following that debacle. Tanya winces as she remembers the long hours she’d spent toiling away at mountains of paperwork, obediently fulfilling mindless requests for articles on the newest kombucha brand that was aaaall the rage at the time, doing house call visits to the bottom of the barrel clients, doing all that was shoved her way until it finally, finally got her that blessed promotion. Harley shifts in place, his hands stuffed into his back pockets, seeming uncharacteristically bashful. 

‘I’m glad you stayed with Filigree,’ he says and she’s honestly surprised there isn’t a snarky follow up comment.

‘Oh?’

‘Pepper...talked to me later.’

She can’t help the smile that spreads over her features then as she smugly remembers that comically relatable face he’d made before his swift exit from the waiting room. 

‘Oh, I’m sure she did.’

‘Hey, wipe that smile off your face, I’m trying to give you a pep talk here.’ Harley reminds, only a little bit miffed. ‘But listen. She talked to me about the points you made in there.’

‘And?’

‘And I thought you had a chance. Still do.’ He pauses for a moment, collecting his thoughts. ‘I know that we got off on the wrong foot. And I’m sorry about that. But what I wanted to say was that -

‘We’re ready for you!’ shouts someone nearby the set and Harley pulls a face, pure disgruntlement flattening out his features into a comical sight.

After a moment, he just sighs and shrugs. 

‘Couldn’t have said it better myself.’

With a deep sigh, Tanya pushes herself off the wall and moves as if to walk past him, but she stops in her tracks once she’s level with him, and pats at his shoulder absently.

‘Well. It’s showtime, Prince _Charming_ ,’ she says with extra emphasis on the last word and it earns her a sly grin from the man beside her as he falls into step with her. He takes a seat opposite hers when they reach the set and it’s only when he cocks an eyebrow does she realise that he’s waiting for her direction.

‘Whenever you’re ready,’ somebody says and Tanya nods, only half paying attention as she organises her things on her lap. She flips to a new, pristine page of her notebook, lining up all her pens in a neat row on the side table and picks up her handheld recorder only to stare at it for a moment.

Thinking back on everything, it _was_ slightly ridiculous how panicked she’d gotten over what was essentially just a conversation. A conversation with a Stark perhaps, but as she glances up to meet Harley’s steady gaze, maybe that didn’t entail much of what she’d originally assumed.

_Tony._

She rolls the word around in her head, and it doesn’t snag on craggy edges or crumble at the slightest touch. If she said it out loud, maybe it would even roll off the tongue.

Tanya takes a deep breath, and sets the recorder down on the table.

‘Well then,’ she states simply and her voice doesn’t shake. ‘Let’s get started.’

\--

Afterwards, long after Peter Parker rushes off to attend to a new crisis and Morgan Stark is chauffeured away, Harley approaches Tanya. She’s currently zipping up his striped dress shirt into its dry cleaning bag when he comes to a stop nearby, now clad in his usual black tank and jeans combo. From behind her, Nicki and Madeleine share a pointed look and sidle away with awkward coughs.

‘That went well,’ Harley says. Tanya only looks up to meet his gaze once she’s smoothed the wrinkles out of the bag and handed it off to a nearby assistant. She raises an eyebrow. 

‘Did it?’

‘Sure. Well, at least I think so.’ He pulls a face. ‘And we all know how much my opinion is worth with these sorts of things.’

Tanya quietly slips Peter’s red shirt onto a silver coat hanger, clearly distracted. 

‘And what about that last question?’ She ventures.

‘Well, it definitely wasn’t on the approved script, last time I checked.’

She sighs, her expression pinched as she slides the shirt into another bag. ‘It was a risky move,’ she mutters and Harley hums softly. ‘But I can always edit it out,’ she adds, more to herself than anyone else. 

‘Do you regret asking it?’ 

For a moment, neither of them look at each other. Then that moment passes, and Tanya turns to look at Harley, really look at him, at his steely blue eyes, the firm set of his jaw. At the way his expression shows the tired satisfaction she could audibly hear in his voice. At everything. 

‘Do you regret answering it?’

Harley blinks. A small but genuine smile turns his lips at the edges and he shakes his head, purposefully ruffling his own hair as he leans against a nearby table. 

‘No. And I think that goes for all three of us.’ He says, his expression seeming to grow impossibly softer as he takes in the look on Tanya’s face. ‘Don’t worry about it. We’ve all had to answer some variation of that question at least a few times in our life. It was a nice way to close it all off.’

‘Hm.’ Tanya places all the remaining coat hangers in a box, distracted. At her side, Harley drums his fingers against the surface of the desk. 

‘By the way, I’ve always wanted to ask-‘ he says and it makes her stop what she’s doing to glance at him expectant. ‘-why ‘Montague’?’

‘What?’

‘Why did you choose ‘Tanya Montague’ as your pen name?’

She blinks at him, stunned silent for a second, before she laughs, a sound of relief and tired giddiness, the kind that comes from having just completed a huge project. 

‘That’s your burning question? My _name?_ ’

‘It’s kind of ridiculous, to be fair.’ He points out as he fills one last cup of water at the drinks station.

‘You know far too many weird people to have the right to say that,’ she shoots back and he makes a face as if to say ‘fair point’. ‘But fine. You really want to know why I chose it?’

She clasps the lid on place with a satisfying click and steps back from it to look him full in the face.

‘It’s because it sounds white,’ she says flatly and he immediately chokes on his water.

‘What?’ he splutters desperately even as she lifts the box and strides forward to dump it into their production van. ‘It sounds _white?_ ’

‘We send emails to confirm reporting sessions and interview times with all the appropriate details. Names, qualifications. But no photo is included,’ she explains patiently. ‘Lamar kept getting rejected. Meanwhile, Montague got all the jobs she could possibly wish for as well as the added bonus of seeing rich old white men absolutely crumble at the prospect of being interviewed by a black woman when they expected someone paler than the sun to be striding through their property.’ She sets the box down in the van with a thump and turns to flash Harley a dazzling smile. ‘You see, the thing with all of them is that they’re all too aware of the public backlash they could get from turning me away at the door with a filming cameraman right behind me. So they just have to suck it up and grin through their teeth. And it is fan-fucking-tastic.’

Harley’s gapes at her, eyes wide, for what seems like a beat too long before he slams his jaw shut with an audible click.

‘But...Montague?’ He ventures. ‘Isn’t that a bit too on the nose?’

She gives him a patronising look. ‘Have you ever met a rich old white man? You can never be too on the nose.’

‘Hm. Makes sense’ He looks thoughtful for a moment before his features light up with a slow grin. ‘You’re a genius, by the way.’

Tanya allows herself a brief minute or two to preen. ‘Why thank you,’ she says. ‘It’s but one way I make this job more tolerable.’

‘Tolerable? You’re not satisfied with all this?’ He gestures widely to the studio space and she wrinkles her nose in response.

‘This job…’ she murmurs, slow exhaustion loosening her tongue as she begins to deconstruct one of the clothes racks. ‘It’s easy is the thing. This sort of stuff comes naturally to me. And god, it sure does pay well.’

‘But?’

‘But it’s often hard to feel like you’re doing anything important.’

Tanya stills, surprised by the sincerity of her own admission, and when she looks up to meet Harley’s gaze, he’s giving her a thoughtful look.

‘So, what’s keeping you here?’ he asks and she resist the urge to roll her eyes.

‘Financial stability for one thing.’ She mutters, simply because it’s true, but her brain forces her to explain, to mean what she says for once and she does. ‘But also because Kia Lamar tried it. And she crashed and burned. So when Tanya Montague realised that she too is only just making it work…she’s not too keen on potentially putting that situation in danger.’

Harley hums in response, a low comforting sound that rumbles through his chest.

‘For what it’s worth-‘ he murmurs. ‘I think Kia Lamar could benefit from a good ol’ college try. Who knows? She might be surprised at the result.’

And at that, he leans back to hold her gaze, a small grin playing at her features as he leans in, conspiring.

‘That is, if she ever finds a way to accept help from others.’ 

At that, she snorts, batting him on his shoulder lightly, even as she ignores the implication there that makes her stomach flip.

‘But that’s just my opinion,’ Harley continues, his hands held up in mock surrender as she playfully nudges him off her workstation. ‘And we all know what that is worth.’

Tanya gives him a long, hard look. ‘Dirt.’

Harley throws his hands up in the air, defeated. ‘Yes Tanya, that was implied. Thank you for your input.’

And Tanya honest to god _giggles_ , a brief girlish little sound that bubbles up from inside her throat, one that makes Harley blink at her in surprise. The mirth is real, and as her laughter fades away, her smile still remains, a genuine coyness to the twist of her lips as she realises that neither of them expect to finish this conversation today. That there’ll be chances later to talk, to laugh with each other just like this over coffee or wine. 

Because neither of them are going to let this end like this. 

Tanya breathes in deep, and sighs, more content than she’s felt in a long long time, and moves to pick up another box only to be gently nudged out of the way as Harley promptly lifts two with a sly wink.

‘Accept help,’ he reminds her with a smirk and just this time, she doesn’t bother fighting him on it. Instead she simply rolls her eyes, and falls into step next to him as if it were the easiest thing in the world.


	3. An Interview With Harley Keener

When Harley Keener sits down before me, the first thing I notice is his scars. Two notches above his eyebrow, another across his nose. Two thin lines of scar tissue peek out from under his shirt collar. It’s not unusual for the people I interview to be a little beat up, but they usually at least attempt to cover it up with makeup. He takes me through them when he sees me looking.

Eyebrow.

‘Magpie in springtime.’ He makes a motion with his hand, as if to imitate a claw lunging. ‘Australia. Real fun.’

Nose. He shrugs. ‘Took a bike down a hill on a windy day.’

Collarbone. ‘Jumped the fence to my uni dorm. Misjudged.’

Honestly, it’s kind of underwhelming. Maybe it shows on my face because he laughs.

‘Wait til’ you see Peter,’ he says casually. ‘He’s got all the good stories.’

Casual is a good word for Harley Keener. He embodies it like the sky embodies blue. It’s in the way he fiddles with his bracelet, the missing button on his shirt. The scars, seen without makeup. It would seem disrespectful, if he wasn’t so nice about it.

‘I think you’re selling yourself short,’ I say in response, and Harley Keener gives me one of his signature smirks. ‘Your situation is pretty one-of-a-kind. Being an independent asset of SHIELD, as well as one of the leading engineers of our century must make for an interesting life.’

He hums at that, visibly thoughtful as he scratches at the back to his neck. It’s notable since it confirms a suspicion of mine - it seems like the man finds it impossible to dedicate to one singular action. He’s constantly shifting, tilting from one side to another. A real man-on-the-go, even if the habit might seem grating to some viewers.

‘Well, I can’t say much about either,’ he says at length and seems genuinely apologetic. ‘Classified information and NDAs...you know the drill, I’m sure.’ 

I do, and the effort and he’s making to still answer my questions doesn’t go unnoticed. 

‘Surely there’s something you can tell me.’ I say. ‘Personal anecdotes, mundane experiences.’

He makes a comical face and leans back with a sigh, clearly wracking his brain. 

‘Kate Bishop sings in the shower?’ He volunteers off handedly then laughs, obviously amused at the fervour with which I’m noting down that latest nugget of information. ‘I’m afraid that’s the extent of insider knowledge I can legally share,’ he admits wryly. ‘Learnt my lesson about this sort of thing a while ago.

‘Oh?’

‘Yeah it was a real debacle. And Director Hill scares the shit out of me, so I’m trying really hard to stay in her good books you know?’

As easy as it would be to get frustrated with him, this sort of response betrays his own sense of responsibility, and I promptly change my tune. 

‘Alright then. What about your more mechanically inclined pursuits?’ I clarify further when his puzzled expression doesn’t budge. ‘For example, what’s this I’ve heard about Mach II potentially collaborating with Black River Industries?’

Harley meets my question with a grin. ‘I can neither confirm nor deny that statement, but it should be common knowledge by now that Mach II doesn’t take their partnerships lightly. We are a business after all.’

‘A business that has apparently stopped taking solo consultations, if rumours are to be believed.’

‘I’m just taking a break. You know I don’t bear any ill will to any civilian customers, but life’s been more hectic than usual. I’ve had to prioritise some of my more classified work.’

‘Such as...a partnership with a modern tech conglomerate, maybe? Perhaps...one that features the Kurokawas?’ 

Harley Keener sidesteps my line of questioning with practised ease. His experience with this sort of thing is obvious, and it’s clear that he takes his role as a SHIELD representative very seriously.

‘Nice try, but that’s all you’re getting from me.’ He responds good-naturedly, and that clearly signals the end of our time focused on his career. I take the tip in stride. It’s not as if he’s a one-trick-pony, after all.

‘So, here’s a bit of a general question,’ I begin. ‘What’s your favourite thing about being considered one of the Starks?’

‘I’d say that the amount of opportunities it makes available is pretty unmatched,’ he says after a pause. ‘I have no doubt that I wouldn’t have achieved nearly as much if people weren’t also considering Tony when they considered me.’

‘And what did Tony Stark mean to you, specifically?’

I realise at some point that this may transgress into personal territory, but Harley Keener seems all in, even if he takes a moment to collect his thoughts.

‘Well, it’s basically common knowledge these days that I don’t have the greatest relationship with my biological family. My actual dad wasn’t there for me, and my mom was always very...uh…absent, I think, is a good way to describe it. When I met Tony, I think we were both in a bad place, and we sort of ended up dragging each other out of our respective holes. I mean, I’m probably giving myself too much credit - I was like eleven at the time after all - but it meant a lot to me. That first encounter.’ He pauses. ‘The...mythology around him. It was still present at the time. I’m sure you understand what I’m talking about, that detachment the general public had from Iron Man, you know? Like they had this image of this man, who was all hero, right? And then he crash lands and tries to break into my shed, and he’s just a guy with a lot of brains and not enough tools. I...think that’s when I realised I wanted to do something like...well, something like what I’m doing right now, basically. Because he was just a person with a lot of resources. And after things returned to the status quo, I mean I was ready to live the rest of my life with just that interaction as fuel for the fire, but he kept contact with me. Personally. You could say that he essentially started me off on this road.’

‘And...are you aware that many people do see you as a sort of continuation of Tony Stark?’

Harley wrinkles his nose in light hearted incredulity. ‘I’d say that people tend to do that more for Peter, don’t they?’

‘Ah well, considering your…romantic endeavours, people often find it hard to not make the comparison.’

At that, he tsks in understanding. ‘I’d like to think that my track record’s perceived more positively though. Just in regards to the amount of relationships I’ve ended on good terms.’

I have to concede to that. He’s got a point, after all. 

‘And just for the sake of pure transparency, and also because I’d be crucified if I didn’t ask you this...remind me of your relationship status.’

He’s barely holding back a laugh when he responds. ‘Single.’ 

‘And, since we all know this song and dance by now, is that ‘classified-relationship’ single, or ‘single’ single?’

Harley flashes me a grin that would make anyone go weak at the knees. ‘I’m  _ single _ ,’ is all he says and that’s that.

Gradually, the conversation turns towards the upcoming Stark Vigil, as it is wont to do. With the event only a little over a week away and with the most recent scandal surrounding Morgan Stark being the next big thing, it’s natural for there to be some tension in the room, but Keener handles the topic like a seasoned professional.

‘Of course I’ll be attending. That is, unless something with work comes up,’ he adds in a way that makes it clear the possibility isn’t out of the question. ‘I always make an effort to be there, but you know how these things go. Maniacs like attention, and anything that happens that day will get twice as much coverage.’ 

‘And, personally, how do you feel about the way the Stark Vigil has changed since its first occurrence?’

‘Well...I’m glad that it’s less somber now. When it first started, it made sense. We were all grieving, in our own way, and the Vigil made it easier to recover together. But it’s almost been a decade. I’m glad it’s becoming something more like a collaborative charity event, something more fun and interactive.’

‘Particularly interaction between those normal civilians usually wouldn’t be able to relate to.’

‘Exactly! We try to make the event bridge that gap between the two demographics, if only for a weekend. And all the Young Avengers will be making an effort to show up this year.’

Now that’s worthy of some surprise. ‘Even Miss America?’

‘Bishop will be handling a few events so yeah, Chavez will probably end up tagging along as well. Don’t worry,’ he adds with a conspiratorial look. ‘Bishop knows how to handle her.’

‘So would you say that you’re satisfied with the direction the Stark Vigil is moving in?’

‘Sure! There are things I’d like to keep the same, though. In fact, I’m very appreciative that the council didn’t go ahead with the decision to shorten its time slot.’

‘Oh? I don’t believe I remember that.’

Harley shrugs off handedly. ‘It happened a few years ago. The decision would’ve gone ahead, if not for a young reporter’s coverage on it inspiring more attention to it. I’m very grateful to her for her efforts.’

‘Well, I’m sure she’d be grateful to you for using your time in this interview to shout her out.’

Keener inexplicably laughs at that, a bright peal of laughter that seems to fill up the interviewing space. He’s very easy to amuse, and quick to accommodate, which, for the record, makes him one of the best types of celebrities to interview. He closes out our discussion of the Vigil with an apt summary.

‘I think the way it is right now, as a flexible platform for charity, crisis relief and community, is a far better way to preserve Tony’s memory. I genuinely do believe he’d appreciate it more than what used to amount to an annual funeral.’

To close our interview out, I ask him one more question.

‘And if you had the chance to see him one more time, now, what would you say to him? To Tony Stark?’

Harley Keener is silent for a long time. In fact, it’s the longest stretch of time I’ve ever seen him go without speaking.

‘I’d tell him we’re all safe,’ he says finally. ‘That we’re all alive. I’d make sure he knew that it was worth it.’


	4. An Interview With Peter Parker

Peter Parker seems shorter up close. Perhaps it’s because we’re all used to seeing him swing from great heights or maybe it’s that he seems to slouch when he’s out of the suit. The job shines through anyway.

When he takes off his jacket, he reveals a pair of muscled forearms. His handshake is firm and rough. He’s constantly aware of everything around him, the lights, the backdrop, the stylists - you can tell by the way he looks around, scans the environment like it’s second nature.

He arrives fashionably late with a not so fashionable apology ready. What’s notable about him is his sincerity. This should be obvious to most people who come across him, but the tabloids and the talk shows often create a sensational, untouchable image of him. Nevertheless, when he takes a seat in front of me, he is what he is, a college graduate with a lot of responsibility. 

‘The suspenders were Aunt May’s idea,’ he confesses and it’s painfully endearing.

The ‘hero’ questions come and go. Yes, he uses talcum powder in the suit. Yes, he feels responsible for Iron Man’s legacy, but still knows that he is his own person. His webbing is biodegradable, and partially edible, although he makes sure i know that the definition of ‘edible’ is sure to differ between people. His sleep schedule is non-existent, and self described as ‘The Everyman Sleep Schedule but if it was filled with more holes than a cartoon cheese wheel’.

‘Sometimes I sleep 5 hours, and sometimes I just do not sleep,’ he explains wrly. ‘And no, the healing factor does not keep me awake. Coffee does.’

Peter’s probably been asked the questions a million times but he humours it, even as our time ticks down. His interview is shorter than all the others - he’s a busy man after all. With only fifteen minutes on the clock, we leave behind Spider-Man and come to Peter. 

As a civilian, Peter seems like an average college graduate, if a bit stressed. He points out the bags under his eyes as a joke - ‘no rest for the wicked,’ he chuckles and fiddles with his jacket. The burden of being a hero full time is a lot but he somehow makes it work.

‘What about the Avengers?’ 

He looks sheepish. ‘I’m an on call member now. Fury has my phone number.’

‘On call? So you’re not a permanent part of the team?’

He shrugs and flashes a warm smile. ‘They’re a bit too global.’

‘Ah. Friendly  _ neighbourhood _ Spider-Man.’

His smile widens. ‘Now you got it.’

At some point, the conversation turns toward his charity work. His newest mission focuses on providing more effective rehabilitation services for criminals who suffer from recidivism, and it is an issue that he approaches with equal amounts of compassion and steadfastness.We also get the chance to briefly discuss his ongoing partnership with Natasha Romanoff’s foster care service, and the work he does to educate children and provide them with enough experience to go out into the world as independent people.

He blushes at the first sign of praise, clearly a little embarrassed by the attention. ‘You’d be surprised how many of the ‘bad guys’ -’ and here he puts them in air quotes. ‘-are just kids who didn’t get a chance at a normal life. We’re trying our best to address that issue one person at a time.’

With the topic of children in peril in mind, it’s all too easy to shift the topic to Peter Parker’s long-time girlfriend, Michelle Jones, who is currently investigating rogue child experiments occurring in rural Symkaria. He’s all too happy to heap praise upon her - the moment I mention her name, his eyes take on a proud gleam and he’s leaning forward in his seat. As the newest rising star of journalism, Michelle Jones has been steadily but surely making a name for herself, even with her humble beginnings. Her newest achievement has been being appointed the youngest ever Hero-Civilian Interpersonal Relations Ambassador (or, one of the HIRAs as we know them) and from what I glean from Peter’s enthusiastic spiel, she’s doing a great job.

‘The work she’s doing in Symkaria is just amazing,’ he gushes. ‘Sablinova’s been very forthcoming with financial and technical support and they’ve been able to bust three experimental drug dens as well.’

‘And Sablinova...she’s taking well to the new blood?’

Peter’s grin gains a wry quality. ‘Don’t worry. Michelle can handle herself just fine.’

‘And what would you say to those who criticise the decision for a 25-year-old woman to be undertaking this sort of mission?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, there’s been a lot of words like ‘careless endangerment’ being thrown around.’

Peter’s expression sours. ‘Ah. Right. That’s most likely symptomatic of a...more ingrained societal bias than anything else.’ he says shortly. ‘SInce I’m the same age and I dodge bullets for a living.’

He straightens up in his seat, suddenly all business, and it’s abruptly clear to see how dramatic the shift between Peter Parker and Spiderman really is. ‘Black River Industries has been more than generous with its backing, and our SHIELD operatives are constantly reporting back. I don’t think safety concerns hold much weight.’

‘So what would you say you personally feel about the whole situation?’

‘I think she’s incredibly brave,’ he says simply. ‘I have a healing factor. She doesn’t. And-’

And here the look on his face softens again, and a flush begins to creep up his neck. 

‘-and, I miss her. A lot. Holo-calls only go so far, you know?’

‘She’s projected to return in time for the Stark Vigil though, isn’t that right?’

‘She will! We’ll be attending it together. There won’t be any presentation of her findings though, there’s a whole debriefing process to slog through first,’ he adds, mildly apologetic. 

‘And should we be expecting anything extraordinary from you this year? Considering the fact that we’re coming up on nearly a decade of Vigils.’

At that, Peter’s eyes gain a wistful quality, and he seems more thoughtful for a moment.

‘Wow. Nearly a decade.’ He flaps his hands around in a comical gesture. ‘That’s time for you, I guess. But yeah, I’d say that we’re in for a turning point this year. The changes to the Vigil have been pretty gradual these last few years but as I’m sure Harley explained previously, we’re really making an effort this time to include the newest generation of Avengers. It’s all about giving them the chance to shine.’

‘You’re sounding awfully parental. Aren’t you one of them?’

‘Ah well, my situation’s a little unique,’ he explains. ‘I’m technically both a sworn in Avenger and a Young Avenger. I can work well on both teams, but as I said before, I’m on-call so I go where I’m most needed.’

‘And Kate Bishop is the leader of the Young Avengers, not you, correct?’

‘Yep! I’m personally more than happy about it.’ He chuckles. ‘She can handle Chavez better than anyone else on that team.’

‘Oh! That’s interesting. Because a lot of people would claim that you act as a potential mentor figure.’

I stop there, even if I have more to say, simply because Peter Parker seems obviously bewildered.

‘Mentor figure?’ he exclaims. ‘I’m not even that much older than them!’

‘Yes but the general public see your years of experience and so-’

‘No, no.’ He waves the end of the sentence away, clearly embarrassed. ‘Seniority doesn’t mean much in this sort of job. It’s not like there’s an instruction manual with this stuff. And anway, a mentor isn’t-I mean I’m not-’

‘So you’re saying you disagree with the idea that you’re taking the role of Tony Stark as a sort of...welcoming party to the Avengers?’

He stares at me, clearly incredulous. ‘That cannot be real.’ he mutters.

‘I’d say don’t shoot the messenger but…’ I say and he laughs. The crease disappears from between his eyes as he heaves a disbelieving but light-hearted sigh.

‘Tony was a mentor,’ he says finally. ‘He...made me realise what all this - ‘ and he gestures wildly to his body. ‘-meant. And it meant a lot. It meant the world.’

‘So he did a good job then.’

Peter makes a comical expression then chuckles, excessively fond. ‘He tried his best. And yeah, people will have differing opinions, but I think he did just fine.’

I’m all too aware of our time ticking down and, judging from the way Peter shifts in his seat, I’m sure he is too. I decide to wrap up the interview with one more question. 

‘And just before I let you go, if you had the chance to talk to Tony Stark again today, what would you say to him?’

He’s silent for a second, momentarily stunned, before he laughs a small, soft laugh.

‘Jeez. I mean, how long do I have?’

‘Let’s say five minutes.’

Peter thinks for a while. His impatience is nowhere to be found.

‘I’d say that I’m still figuring out the grey area thing, but I’m getting by.’ he answers with a smile. ‘Say I hope I’m doing him proud. And... thank you. I think I’d just say thank you.’ 


	5. An Interview With Morgan Stark

Morgan Stark shows up to the interview in a dress that’s more armour than cloth. Sure, there’s a big bow and a pleated skirt but she doesn’t seem to acknowledge the literal pauldrons at her shoulders. She grins as she slips into her seat - her cheeks are just the slightest bit flushed and she explains that she just came from judo practise. Nevertheless, she looks flawless. Talented stylists or just her mother’s influence? Take your pick.

Despite her mother’s best attempts to keep the press away, the youngest Stark consistently gets her name known. The most recent scandal is the heavily publicized fight she picked with a fellow classmate. When pressed, she says matter-of-factly, ‘he was shit-talking my dad.’ 

With that, I’m already intrigued, but before we get to dive in deeper, the conversation is spinning away, her unmatched enthusiasm leading us down a real rabbit hole of topics.

It makes sense, in some regard. Her sheltered lifestyle, as well as the five years she spent cooped up in Stark Tower has left her energetic and boisterous, seemingly desperate to experience everything she’s missed in her exile from society. Her most recent return to school was a source of much initial nervousness at the time, but as she quickly follows up, she’s more than happy with where she is there.

As a child who managed to zoom years ahead of her projected curriculum during homeschooling, the subjects she takes at her current high school all seem like a breeze, allowing her to focus on the real reason she wanted to return to a formal education system - her social life. And until recently, it seemed as if she was doing quite well.

‘Jen Kurokawa is the level representative of my grade,’ she explains. ‘And when I first arrived, she and Tamsin Shepherd showed me around!’

The Jen she refers to is none other than Juno Kurokawa, daughter of the Kurokawas and heir to Black River Industries, the contemporary tech conglomerate currently in association with SHIELD. It isn’t difficult to see how such a friendship could blossom, although when I bring it up, Morgan is inordinately surprised.

‘Oh,’ she says simply. ‘I didn’t even realise that’s who she was!’

Morgan Stark’s enthusiasm is by no means a symptom of narrow-mindedness however. She’s more than aware of the socio-political debate in which she is the epicenter. 

‘It’s just life,’ she sighs, reluctant but tired, and at this point, I really do need to take a second to remind myself that Morgan Stark is thirteen years old.

She seems to be taking this interview like a seasoned professional. It’s strange how mature she seems for her age but it’s merely a facade, and not one she’s perfected. When she talks about her family, for example, her pride is evident in every inch of her body. And her excitement when talking about her future intellectual pursuits - she’s a young genius just like her father, and the prospect of doing more with her talents has her practically vibrating with enthusiasm. Halfway through, she confesses that her ‘professionalism’ (she indicates it with air quotes) is just her copying what her mother does in interviews. 

‘Do you want to be like your mother when you grow up?’ I ask. Her nose wrinkles and for a moment, I’m irrationally worried I sounded condescending.

‘I don’t think I could pull off the red hair,’ she replies.

Inevitably, I find myself pulling the conversation back to her latest controversy. She welcomes it with only minimal reluctance.

‘So you say that Christian Hall was…’

‘Talking shit about my dad,’ she provides flatly and I nod encouragingly.

‘So what does that mean exactly? 

Morgan Stark looks up from where she’s been staring at her hands, only to fixate on a point just outside of view. The movement makes her long hair fall between us like a curtain, but I can still notice the note of anger that seeps into her voice.

‘I don’t want to repeat what he said,’ she says at length. ‘But it was very...ignorant, I think. He’d implied that my dad made a choice. And that it was the wrong one.’ 

‘And that made you attack him?’

‘No, it was what he said after.’

‘Which was…’

There’s a beat of silence before Morgan turns back to face me, and the look on her face simply reminds me ten times over just who exactly she is.

‘My dad loved me,’ she says firmly. ‘I know he did. Christian Hall was a coward to say what he did, and I’m not going to do it for him. There’s video footage out there that only starts when I throw a punch but I promise you that it’s not the full version. There was a boy there who started recording it the moment Hall opened his mouth. And I don’t know why he’s still keeping silent about it, but I know I’m not wrong.’ 

Needless to say, it’s a lot to process in the moment. I don’t mean to be silent for as long as I am, but Stark notices it, and her gaze lowers. The intensity doesn’t falter per se, but she seems to temper it down to a slow simmer as she folds her hands in her lap.

‘I know I’m only thirteen and that I still don’t understand a lot of things.’ she says slowly. ‘But neither do they. Noone like that was even close to the battlefield that day. It’s all classified information. But everyone still acts as if they get a say, or an opinion on what happened and it's not fair.’

‘Not even I’m allowed to have an opinion and I’m-!’ she cuts herself off with a loud groan. ‘Well. You know.’

‘It’s just hard,’ she continues. ‘Everything’s just so difficult, all the time. Sometimes I wish people knew how hard it is for me to just...live. To just be normal. I know that I shouldn’t have fought Christian but don’t kids have fights all the time? Why do I have to be better? Why can’t I just be allowed to make mistakes sometimes?’

At this point, it almost seems as if she’s talking to herself. I’m reluctant to disturb her, but it feels right.

‘I’m sure the public response isn’t intentionally malicious.’ I try gently and she sighs. ‘It’s simply that we don’t have much to work off of.’

‘Yeah, I know. It’s nobody’s fault.’

‘Although...some people are pointing to your long term training in martial arts as something that might have facilitated this turn of events. What would you say about that?’

‘Well...I guess I can understand where they’re coming from,’ she says, thoughtful. ‘But I don’t think it’s that hard to see why I might want to know how to defend myself. Considering...you know. Everything about my life.’

To be fair, it does seem like the obvious conclusion.

‘And do you enjoy it? Studying martial arts?’

‘I think it’s fun. It’s like...an extracurricular!’ she proposes, brightening up slightly as her passion for the sport shines through. ‘Although, I haven’t had much opportunity to actually participate in tournaments.’

‘And would you like to? To participate in such events?’

‘Oh, absolutely!’ At that, she seems a bit sheepish. ‘Although...I’d probably have to get the okay from my mom first.’

‘Speaking of your mother, I’ve heard that both of you still plan on attending the Stark Vigil.’

At the mention of the vigil, Morgan’s entire demeanour changes, and she beams, leaning forward in her seat with barely restrained delight. 

‘We are!’ she exclaims.’We both decided that we wouldn’t miss out on any more after we had to stay home in 2027. And this time, we’ll be seeing the Young Avengers in action, so I’m really excited about that!’

‘I’ve also heard that you might be bringing along a creation of your own. A uh...portable AI from what the rumours have told me?’

‘Oh! You mean C.L.A.R.A! Yeah, I was thinking of bringing her to feature in the Young Minds exhibit. I thought she might benefit from interacting with other robots, and learning from them!’

‘So she’s a robot, then. Not an AI?’

Morgan furrows her brow in thought, as she clearly tries to think of the best way to phrase her explanation, and I almost find myself embarrassed at my own lack of knowledge. It really does seem as if the rumours weren’t exaggerating when describing her mannerisms - for all eagle eyed viewers, she, for all intents and purposes, does seem like a miniature version of her father. 

‘Well, she’s technically both,’ she finally says. ‘I constructed her body and embedded instructor routes into her AI, so she’s fully functional. And, her actual artificial intelligence is simply an altered version of my dad’s original pass at a nanny AI that never really became a thing. He was really just going to call her N.A.N, you know? So unimaginative.’

Her own train of thought leads her to a small giggle, and I find that it makes me laugh as well. Her enthusiasm and giddiness is unfairly infectious, and it’s clear to see the love for her craft in the wide grin of her expression, and her wild overblown gestures. 

Morgan Stark is larger than life, is what I realise, and I suddenly get an inkling of an idea of how stunted and irritated she must have felt in her self-named ‘Rapunzel’ phase. Although her time spent on that portion of her life was brief, her meagre comments still resonate with me now. 

‘It was like that bullet had crashed into that glass and sucked all of my life out the window with it.’ she’d said. ‘And then I spent the next few years of my life stuck behind windows. Looking out. And sure, I could leave but first I needed permission, I needed security guards, I needed coaching on what to say to the paparazzi when they inevitably found where I was. It was all too much and too little at the same time.’

And, all of a sudden, it registers with me that she’s only been back at school for two weeks. Having now been suspended for well over a week, she’s essentially been forced back into the life she once bemoaned and, abruptly, her frustration makes all the more sense.

‘And you made C.L.A.R.A while in your…’Rapunzel’ phase?’ I find myself investigating further, boosted by Morgan’s cheerful nod. ‘And in your own words, how would you describe the transition between creating robot bodies for artificial intelligence and high school algebra?’

The question is only half serious, and her cheeks flush with barely restrained laughter as she gives me a knowing look. It’s surprising how quickly we’ve managed to build a rapport, and I’m sure it’s in no small part due to her overwhelming maturity.

‘I sort of go to school more for the people than the content,’ she admits finally, and the sincerity of it is palpable. ‘I like being able to feel part of something again.’

‘Is that also your favourite part of the Stark Vigil? The community aspect?’

She shifts her head from side to side pensively as she thinks. ‘Yeah, sorta. But I mostly do it because...well…’ She blushes from mild embarrassment. ‘Well, it kind of makes me feel closer to my dad. Like we’re not leaving him behind in the past, but taking him with us.’

‘And, in that same train of thought,’ I say. ‘What would you say to him now? If you could meet him again, just for a moment.’ 

Morgan Stark’s eyes widen for what seems like only a second, before she’s brushing her hair out of her face, and she smiles, soft and sure.

‘I’d tell him I love him of course,’ she answers, firm and honest. ‘I’d tell him I love him more than I could ever quantify.’


	6. Epilogue

‘To being right.’

Tanya frowns, slowing her glass of wine to a stop in mid air.

‘I am not toasting to that,’ she states flatly and Harley frowns as he leans against the counter of the bar.

‘To a resounding success then,’ he tries again only to be met with a shake of her head.

‘That’s not correct, either,’ she says, blatantly ignoring his answering groan as she whips out her phone and scrolls to the article in question in one smooth, practised gesture. ‘We still have straggler viewers who are questioning the validity of our content, as well as critiquing the choice to have the article hosted by Filigree. And then you have the population on Twitter who have started a debate on the freedom of speech which is _ always _ a classic-‘

Harley stops her short by pressing her phone face down on the sleek black marble of the bar, one eyebrow half raised in despair. 

‘But the response is overwhelmingly positive.’

She pulls a face. ‘Yes but that’s only to be expected. Senator Hall’s negative stance on the Starks isn’t exactly private knowledge. And we got lucky with one of Hall’s classmates leaking the full video instead of the doctored version. Also, we can’t get complacent. Senator Hall is most likely playing it cool since he’s up for re-election soon and he doesn’t want to ruffle any more feathers. Once he’s secured his place, there’s bound to be-‘

At that, Harley physically pushes her glass of wine back into her hand with a pointed look. 

‘Less journalising, more wine.’ He says as he sips at his own glass. ‘We’re celebrating! It’s not as if you don’t deserve a break.’ He promptly leaps over the bar and takes a seat at a barstool next to her. ‘How much sleep have you gotten these last few days?’

‘I am not telling you that.’ She sips at her drink and blinks. ‘This tastes too expensive.’

‘Are you surprised?’ Harley cocks an eyebrow at her. ‘This is Pepper’s bar after all. Do you really think she’d half ass her selection?’

‘Fair point.’ Tanya swivels around in her seat to glance at the sheer expense of living space that extends out behind her, at the sunken living room with its plush couches and carefully watered plants, at the floor to ceiling windows that give her a complete view of their cinematic surroundings. The scatterings of life throughout the room is the only sign that the entire floor hasn’t walked straight out a magazine and even they seem to accentuate the overall feng shui of the place. A bundle of books that haven’t been organised, half used tissue boxes and askew arm chairs…

Tanya narrows her eyes. She doesn’t think Pepper Stark could half ass something if she tried.

There’s a part of her that’s still reeling from the fact that she’s drinking wine that most  _ definitely costs more than her ren _ t in Stark Tower, but she’s trying to play it cool, if only for Harley’s sake. The look on his face when she’d stepped out of the elevator and audibly gasped...well, there’s no question about him bringing it up to spite her in the future.

She shifts in her seat, suddenly all too aware of how out of place she seems here. The sheer amount of upscaled tech embedded into every surface is almost daunting, even if she is simply here to make a simple house call. The household AI, F.R.I.D.A.Y., had even asked her whether she’d prefer to walk on heated floors and she’d been too overwhelmed to even poke fun at Harley’s apparent lack of choice. Tanya sips deeply at her glass and hopes Harley doesn’t notice her nervousness.

‘So what now?’ the man in question says, lolling his head towards her in a languid motion. 

‘Well, right now we’re taking some time to evaluate public response.’ Tanya responds slowly, gathering her thoughts as she places her glass down once more. The article isn’t exactly a huge divergence from what they typically do, but the shine and sparkle of it didn’t fool many people from what it really was. It’s an interesting new format, one that exploits the public’s pre-existing opinions of Filigree to ease the way into the discussion of less...vapid topics. Tanya would be lying if she says she wasn’t excited to see what the initial success of the article could mean for subsequent projects, but Harley didn’t need to know that. ‘After that, we’ll send an analytics report to Meredith, and if the overall outlook seems good, we’ll try to cultivate more discussion about-’

She stops mid sentence to gape at Harley’s glazed over expression. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. Am I boring you?’

He startles, eyes widening, and he’s about to respond when another voice cuts him off.

‘I wouldn’t take it personally. I for one am  _ very  _ interested in what you have to say.’

In an instant, Tanya is scrambling to her feet, her heart in her throat, because yes, that  _ is  _ Pepper Stark and yes, she  _ is  _ drinking  _ her  _ wine. And god, Pepper looks as amazing as ever, clad in an ice blue dress that hangs off her shoulders like it was made for it. It takes Tanya a second to find her voice, her brain still short circuiting, but the redheaded woman simply stands in the doorway, clearly pleasantly amused as she patiently awaits a response.

‘Mrs Stark!’ Tanya finally manages, probably far too loud judging by the wince Harley shoots at her. ‘I-I didn’t realise you would be home today. Mr Keener-’

‘He’s a real troublemaker, isn’t he?’ Pepper cocks her head, letting her auburn hair spill down across her shoulder and Tanya nods furiously while Harley raises his eyebrows and wordlessly downs the rest of his wine. ‘I hope this surprise isn’t too confronting, but I simply wanted to thank you for your efforts.’

A second too late, Tanya realises she’s gaping. ‘I-uh. It was-’ she stammers, fighting down a scowl as Harley none too subtly nudges her forward with his foot.

‘In fact -’ Pepper continues, steadfast. ‘I’d love to have a conversation with you about it. My PR manager has informed me that your article’s inspired a lot of more self conscious discussion around my daughter, and we’d all hopefully like to make that more of a common occurrence. Wouldn’t you agree?’

‘Absolutely!’ the younger woman returns instinctively, only to have her heart jump in her throat as her brain realises what she’s just agreed to. ‘I...uh. Now?’

Pepper smiles, and it reaches her eyes.

‘Only if you can spare the time,’ she responds simply and Tanya practically trips over herself to get all her things back into her handbag. At the sight of it, the older woman moves as if to leave, her fingers trailing gracefully at the doorframe as she kindly waits for Tanya to catch up. Only when she’s sure Tanya will follow does Pepper’s gaze shift to the man still lounging at the bar, and her lips turn up into a teasing smirk.

‘Don’t forget to clean up after yourself, Harley,’ she says and Harley’s eyes widen in response. ‘We wouldn’t want a repeat of 2026 now, would we?’

Harley groans into his wine, his exasperated sigh misting up the glass even as he gives a cursory salute. 

‘Aye-aye cap’n,’ he grumbles and yes, Tanya absolutely makes a note of this to follow up on later. When she glances back at him with a sly look to convey that, he meets her gaze with a steady look of his own, lifting his glass back up in a mock toast. 

‘Good luck,’ he mouths, and it's all she can do to not simply beam at him. There’s no doubt in her mind that he’s orchestrated this whole thing, and the rising wave of gratitude threatens to break the moment she opens her mouth, so she settles for a helpless shake of her head and a smile. 

And judging by the way his eyes glitter, she can convince herself that it got the point across just as well as any shitty headline would have done.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and concrit are welcome!


End file.
